3/39 
WI77s 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


8  W  IK 


• 


T.LAM"'. 


t. 


-iancholy  o 

....  .  (   ,   -      •  •  •      • 

which  my  often  rumination  \?raps  me. 

)H 


It  is  a  melancholy  of  mine  own,  compounded  of  many  simples,  extracted 
from  many  objeo'    ;   and  indeed  the  sun-irv  'ion  of  my  travels,  in 

which  my  often  rumination  wraps  Hie,  is  a  most  humorous  sadm  ss  ! — 

SHAKSPEAB.E. 


PUBLISHED    BY    CUMMtNGS    &    HILLIARD, 

BOSTON  BOOKSTORE, 

JVo.   1     Cuinluli. 


£.  BELLAMY,  PRINTER. 

1881, 


DISTRICT  OF  MASSACHUSETTS,  to  wit  .• 

District  ClerVs  Office. 

BE  IT  REMEMBERED,  that  on  the  twenty  ninth  day  of  March,  in  the 
Forty  Fifth  year  of  the  Independence  of  the  UNITED  STATES  of  AMERICA, 
ELISHA  BELLAMY  of  the  sud  District,  has  deposited  in  this  Office  the  Title 
of  a 'Book,  the  Right  whereof  he  claims  as  Proprietor,  in  the  Words  follow 
ing,  to  wit  : 

"  Sukey.. '  It  is  a.melancholy  of  mine  own,  compounded   of  many 

simples,  extracted  from  many  objects  ;  and  indeed  the  sundry  contemplation 
of  my  travels,  m  which  my  often  rumination  wraps  me,  is  a  most  humoruut 
sadness  ." —  IShakspeare.'1'1 

In  Conformity  to  the  Act  of  the  Congress  of  the  United  States,  entitled 
'"An  act  for  the  encouragement  of  learr.ing,  by  securing  the  copies  of 
maps,  chart?  and  books,  to  the  authors  and  proprietors  of  such  copies,  during 
the  times  therein  mentioned  :"  and  also  to  an  act  entitled,  "  An  act  supple 
mentary  to  an  act,  entitled,  an  act  for  the  encouragement  of  learning,  by 
securing  the  copies  of  maps,  charts  and  books,  to  the  authors  and  proprie 
tors  of  such  copies  during  the  times  therein  mentioned  ;  and  extending  the 
benefit?  thereof  to  the  arts  of  designing,  engraving  and  etching  historical,  and 
other  prints." 

JXO.  W.  DAVIS, 
Clerk  of  the  District  of  Massachutetts 


PREFACE. 


The  nature  and  design  of  this  Poem,  may  not  at  first  be  com 
pletely  and  thoroughly  understood.  It  demands  a  patient  and 
frequent  perusal.  It  aims  at  something  higher  and  better  than 
mere  amusement.  I  have  wished  to  do  something  in  an  uncom 
mon  way,  it  is  to  be  confessed  for  morality,  poetry,  and  manners  ; 
and  I  cannot  but  believe  if  that  which  I  have  written  be  rightly 
apprehended  my  attempt  will  not  be  wholly  frustrated.  Some 
time  ago  I  formed  the  design  of  writing  three  poems  on  subjects 
intimately  connected  with  peculiar  branches  in  the  philosophy  of 
the  human  mind.  This  is  the  first  fruits,  of  a  less  ambitious  char 
acter  to  be  sure,  than  the  other  two,  VEIMAR  or  DESTINY,  a  Dra 
matic  Romance,  and  the  DREAM  OF  THE  SEPULCHRE,  which  I  shall 
publish  in  the  course  of  this  summer,  or  farthest,  in  the  autumn  of 
the  year.  This  poem,  however,  is  simply  intended  to  illustrate 
some  of  the  curious  facts,  set  forth  in  the  newly  received  opinions 
concerning  the  Doctrine  of  Association  of  Ideas.  I  have  been  in 
duced  to  do  this  by  certain  convictions  forced  upon  my  own  mind 
after  reading  the  following  reflections  from  Foster's  essay  on  A 
MANS  WRITING  MEMOIRS  OF  HIMSELF. 

Men  realize  their  existence  in  the  surrounding  objects  that  act 
upon  them  and  form  the  interests  of  self,  rather  than  in  that  very 
self,  that  interior  being,  which  is  thus  acted  upon.  So  that  this 


027432 


IV  PREFACE. 

being  itself,  with  its  thoughts  and  feelings,  as  distinct  from  the  oh- 
jects  of  those  thoughts  and  feelings,  but  rarely  occupies  its  own 
deep  and  patient  attention.  Men  carry  their  minds,  as  they  car 
ry  their  watches,  content  to  be  ignorant  of  the  mechanism  of  their 
movements,  and  satisfied  with  attending  to  the  little  exterior  cir 
cle  of  things,  to  which  the  passions,  like  indexes,  are  pointing.  It 
is  surprising  to  see  how  little  self  knowledge  a  person  not  watch 
fully  observant  of  himself  may  have  gained  in  the  whole  course  of 
an  active,  or  even  an  inquisitive  life. 

In  some  occasional  states  of  the  mind,  we  can  look  back  much 
more  clearly,  and  to  a  much  greater  distance,  than  at  other 
times.  I  would  advise  to  seize  those  short  intervals  of  illumina 
tion  which  sometimes  occur  without  onr  knowing  the  cause,  and 
in  which  the  genuine  aspect  of  some  remote  event,  or  long  for 
gotten  image,  is  recovered  with  extreme  distinctness  by  vivid 
spontaneous  glimpses  of  thought  such  as*  no  effort  could  have 
commanded  ;  as  the  sombra  features  and  minute  objects  ofa  dis 
tant  ridge  of  hills  become  strikingly  visible  in  the  strong  gleams 
of  light  which  transiently  fall  on  them. 

Places  and  things  which  have  an  association  with  any  of  the 
events  or  feelings  of  past  life,  will  greatly  assist  the  recollection 
of  thfm.  If  an  old  man  wished  to  animate  for  a  moment  the 
languid  and  faded  ideas  which  he  retains  of  his  youth,  he  might 
walk  with  his  crutch  across  the  green  where  he  once  played  with 
companions  who  are  now  probably  laid  to  repose  in  another  spot 
not  far  off.  An  aged  saint  may  meet  again  some  of  the  affecting 
ideas  of  his  early  piety  in  the  place 'where  he  first  thought  it  hap 
py  to  pray.  A  walk  in  a  meadow,  the  sight  of  a  bank  of  flowers, 
perhaps  even  of  some  one  flower,  a  landscape  with  the  tints  of  au 
tumn,  the  descent  into  a  valley,  the  brow  ofa  mountain,  the  house 
where  a  friend  has  been  met.  or  has  resided,  ur  has  died,  have  often 


PREFACE.  V 

produced  a  much  more  lively  recollection  of  our  past  feelings,  and 
of  the  objects  and  events  which  caused  them,  than  the  most  per 
fect  description  could  have  done  ;  and  we  have  lingered  a  consid 
erable  time  for  the  pensive  luxury  of  thus  resuming,  if  I  may  so 
express  it,  the  departed  state  of  our  minds. 

But  there  are  many  to  whom  local  associations  present  images 
which  they  fervently  wish  they  could  forget ;  images  which  haunt 
the  places  where  crimes  have  been  perpetrated,  and  which  seem 
to  approach  and  glare  on  the^criminal  as  he  hastily  passes  by,  es 
pecially  if  in  the  evening  or  the  night.  .Vo  local  associations  are 
so  impressive  as  those  of  guilt.  It  may  here  be  observed,  that  as  each 
one  has  his  own  seperate  remembrances,  giving  to  some  places  an  as 
pect  and  a  significance  'which  he  alone  can  perceive,  there  must  be  an 
unknown  number  of  pleasing,  or  mournful,  or  dreadful  associations, 
spread  over  the  scenes  inhabited  or  visited  by  men.  We  pass  \vithout 
any  awakened  consciousness  by  the  bridge,  or  the  wood,  or  the 
house,  where  there  is  something  to  excite  the  most  painful  or  fright 
ful  ideas  in  the  next  man  that  shall  come  that  way,  or  possibly  the 
companion  that  walks  along  with  us.  How  much  there  is  in  a 
thousand  spots  of  the  earth,  that  is  invisible  and  silent  to  all  but 
the  conscious  individual. 

I  hear  a  voice  you  cannot  hear ; 
I  see  a  hand  you  cannot  see. 

Most  persons,  I  presatne,  can  recollect  some  few  sentences  or 
conversations  which  made  so  deep  aa  impression,  perhaps  in  some 
instances  they  can  scarcely  tell  why,  that  they  have  been  thous- 
an  Is  of  times  recalled,  while  all  the  rest  have  been  forgotten  ;  or 
they  can  advert  to  some  striking  incident,  coming  in  aid  of  instruc 
tion,  or  boing  of  itself  a  forcible  instruction,  which  they  seem  ev 
en  now  to  see  as  clearly  as  when  it  happened,  and  of  which  they 


Tl      ,  PREFACE. 

will  retain  a  perfect  idea  to  the  end  of  life.  In  some  instances,  to 
recollect  the  instructions  of  a  former  period  will  be  to  recol 
lect  too  the  excellence,  the  affection,  and  the  death,  of  the  per 
sons  who  gave  them.  Amidst  the  sadness  of  such  a  remembrance, 
it  will  be  a  consolation  that  they  are  not  entirely  lost  to  us.  Wise 
monitions,  when  they  return  on  us  with  this  mehncholy  charm, 
have  more  pathetic  cogency  than  when  they  were  first  uttered  by 
the  voice  of  a  living  friend  who  is  now  silent.  It  will  be  an  inter 
esting  occupation  of  the  pensive  hour,  to  recount  the  advantages 
which  we  have  received  from  beings  who  have  left  the  world,  and 
to  reinforce  our  virtues  from  the  dust  of  those  who  first  taught 
them. 


SUKEY. 


I. 

J.  AM  one  of  those  melancholy  men, 

Who  sometimes  like  to  strike  a  harp  of  sadness, 

And  joy  to  hear  its  chime,  though  it  may  pain, 

Like  love  sick  maiden's  songs  which  breathe  of  madness  ; 

And  why  ? — I  shall  not  give  myself  the  time, 

To  tell,  but  straight  this  wayward  tale  in  rhyme, 

II. 

Unfold,  as  you  may  wish  ; — but  you  must  know, 

This  rhyming  spirit  business  of  the  brain, 

Is  not  so  easy  work  ;  the  brightning  glow 

Of  Fancy's  fires — is  sometimes  sought  in  vain, 

And  then,  we  Poets  feel,  dull,  sick  and  lone, 

As  if— a  funeral  bell  toll'd  for  some  kind  friend  gone  ' 


III. 

This  SUKET — that  I  mean  to  speak  about, 
Was  quite  a  pretty  lass,  with  eyes  of  blue, 
And  form  symmetrical. — She  loved  a  rout, 
But  more  than  all,  those  parties  where  a  few 
Cay  girls — may  dance  with  tamborine  and  fiddle, 
And  shew  off  all  their  beauty  in  the  riddle, 

IV. 

Of  a  long  contra-dance — while  cotillion 
And  reel  are  given  up — because  the  fashion 
At  least,  in  towns — where  leader's  of  the  ton, 
Delight  to  shew  their  spirit — and  to  dash  on — 
Is,  to  reject,  jig — waltz — hornpipe — minuet, 
Reckless  of  all  the  laws  of  city  etiquette, 


V. 


And  hold,  the  contra-dance,  the  only  dance  is, 
Where  one  may  sport  the  graceful  attitude, 
And  bound  of  happy  feeling,  such  as  FRANCIS,  (1) 
That  Prince  of  gallantry — I  now  allude 
To  Him  of  Gaul — the  Monarch  who  once  said, 
Surely  I've  not  forgot — No  !   in  my  head, 


VI. 


I  have  it  now — aye  ! — that  his  court-room  ring1 
When  ladies  were  not  there — fair  Venus'  powers  ! 
Was  like  the  year  without  the  gentle  Spring, 
Or  rather  like  the  Spring  without  its  flowers  ! — 
It  is  a  pretty  thought  ! — but  I  was  saying, 
This  dance — that  Monarch  thought  far  overswaying 

VII. 

All  others  of  his  times — and  so  I  think, 

Maugre  all  threats  from  those  who  think  they  know, 

That  which  is  only  right ;  I  never  shrink 

From  giving  my  opinion  ; — let  this  go  ! — 

SUKEY  was  fond  of  dancing — so  am  I, 

Though  now  my  dancing  days  have  long  past  by  ! 

VIII. 

This  pastime  had  its  rise — when  Arthur  wore  (2) 

The  crown  of  Britain  and  her  red  cross  shield. — 

The  Fairy  race — belated  shepherds  saw 

Holding  their  revels  near  some  grassy  field — 

Or  forest  glade — where  summer  flowers  were  springing, 

And  chrystal  streams  to  the  sweet  solitude  singing  ! 


IX. 

Such  is  at  least,  the  tale,  romancers  tell. 

The  peasants  told  it  to  their  guests — and  they 

In  towns  and  cities  taught  each  beau  and  belle  ; — 

But  why  go  on  ? — I  only  wish  to  say — 

All  this  I  learnt — (how  complaisant  and  yielding) 

From  a  fine  poem  inscribed  to  Lady  Fanny  Fielding.  (3) 

X. 

I  wish  I  could  pourtray  on  this  white  paper — 
A  shape — that  might  appear  a  living  semblance 
Of  SUKEY'S  person — when  without  her  wrapper, 
She  shone  a  form  etherial ! — remembrance 
May  bring  back  many  such  to  those  who  love, 
And  dream  they  see  their  angel  figures  move, 


XI. 


When  the  high-canopying  arch  of  heaven  at  night, 
Is  sprinkled  o'er  with  stars  ;  and  clouds  of  snow 
Are  sweeping  in  their  stillness — and  the  light 
Of  the  round  MOOD  comes  softly  down  ; — the  flow 
Of  wreathed  brightness — gloriously  spanning 
The  spiritual  walk — and  west  winds  fanning  ; 


XII. 

And  Musick — all  unearthly  comes  !  dying 

From  its  full  swelling  in  the  shadowy  air, 

Along  the  still  lakes  bosomr— slowly  flying 

Upon  the  echo's  pinions — mingles  where 

The  dingle  copse  wood  grows — and  low  fount  caves, 

Or,  in  the  solemn  glen  where  peers  the  place  of  graves  ! 

XIII. 

The  holiest  of  holy  hours  !  on  high 

The  spirit  pure,  from  fragile  clay  may  swell ! — 

It  mingles  with  Loves  light ! — The  DEITY 

Is  there — calm — glorious — bright — ineffable  ! — 

And  this  is  Heaven  ! — till  overwrought  it  falls, 

And  sinks  again  to  earth — which  still  enthralls ! 

XIV. 

Yet  still  it  gazes  on  bright  visions  there — 
And  makes  of  one,  a  form  too  brightly  seen  ; 
Fashioning  to  itself  a  shape  of  air, 
As  sweet  as  that,  which  shall  be,  and  has  been., — 
And  dreams  of  beauty  which  shall  ever  last, 
When  all  the  imagings  of  Time  are  past ! 


8 


XV. 


And  so  it  keeps  through  life  to  death,  unbroken, 
This  passion — while  each  fond  memory  leaves 
Of  the  once  loved — a  hallowed,  mournful  token, — 
A  something,  that  we  know  not,  that  deceives 
With  unsubstantial  mockeries,  and  with  sadness, 
The  credulous  heart,  grown  wise  in  its  own  madness  ! 

XVI. 

HER  hair  was  of  the  chestnut  hue  ;  but  many 
Pretend  not  to  like  this  colour,  the  reason  why 
I  never  ask'd  ;  it  may  be — few — if  any, 
Who  thus  protest,  can  boast  such  hair,  and  shy 
Of  losing  the  good  opinion  of  their  lovers, 
Affirm  such  hair  as  this,  no  cranium  covers  ! 

XVII. 

Dispute  it,  if  you  will — I  shall  not  soon  ; 
But  if  the  newspapers  speak  truth — a  dye 
Of  such  a  hue,  is  found  at  the  Saloon, 
In  Market  Street — by  DICKSON  sold  ;  and  I 
Have  known  him  long,  as  one  who  is  no  Jew, 
But  I  am  telling  now — what  every  body  knew. 


9 


XVIII. 

No  matter  ;  her  hair  was  chestnut — and  its  flow 
Sunk  down  in  silken  softness — like  the  wings 
Of  the  night  birds  in  Paradise  ! — Neck  of  snow — 
And  forehead  meek,  as  that  chaste  seraph  brings, 
On  which  is  prest  the  kiss  of  heavenly  love, 
When  done  her  deeds  of  earth — in  welcoming  above  ! 

XIX. 

I  speak  not  of  her  eye — that  seem'd  to  pour 

The  mellow  light  of  sunset  in  its  glance, 

Or  when  the  soul  was  touch'd,  would  brightly  shower 

The  arrowy  lightnings  of  the  tempest ;  the  dance 

Of  spectre  forms,  from  iris  circle  leaping 

Waving  their  diamond  wands  ; — or  in  its  weeping, 

XX. 

When  the  upgushing  waters  of  the  heart, 
Were  there — and  its  full  orb  was  sunk,  not  spent 
Its  light — the  long  lash'd  lid  with  quivering  start 
Open'd  and  shut — as  when  the  heavens  are  rent, 
And  the  visible  fires  burst  forth  in  glory, 
And  pass  away  in  gloom  ! — Now  to  my  story. 


10 


XXI. 

But  stay  !  I  mast  speak  of  her  foot  and  ankle  ; 

Think  of  a  model  such  as  great  CANOVA,  (4) 

Would  carve  as  beautiful,  to  walk  or  prankle 

Over  the  fields,  when  hearts  are  light,  or  a 

Green  sloping  bank,  where  moonlight  sleeping 

Sheds  brightness,  calm  and  still,  while  Zephyrs  creeping, 

XXII. 

Unveil  the  tender  flowers  and  drink  the  dews ! — 

There  are  but  few,  that  I  know,  who  could  make, 

So  as  to  fit  right  well — a  pair  of  shoes 

For  SUKEY'S  feet— nor  Chadwick — Morton,  Lake, 

Nor  any  other  of  their  cast,  she  wrought 

The  slippers  that  she  wore — they  were  not  bought ! 

XXIII. 

Speaking  of  slippers — those  which  now  are  worn, 

(Prunella) — are  easier  to  wearers  far, 

Than  leather,  cheap, — and  if,  perchance,  are  torn 

By  any  carelessness — a  little  care 

Will  make  them  whole  again — I  shrewdly  ween, 

So  that,  indeed,  the  rent  will  scarce  be  seen. 


11 


XXIV. 

She  was  a  village  girl — an  orphan  child  ! — 

Her  parents  died  when  she  an  infant  yet, 

Knew  not  her  smiles  a  father's  heart  beguiled 

Of  all  his  cares,  and  made  him  oft  forget ! 

Nor  how  a  mother's  anguish  was  overpaid — 

While  for  a  little  time,  in  this  dark  world,  she  stayed  ! 

XXV. 

A  little  time  !  and  in  the  church -yard  ground  ; — 
You  may  have  seen  the  spot,  if  e'er  you  rode, 

Through  X Y — where  a  greensward  mound 

In  spring  is  seen — they  make  their  last  abode ! — 
The  turf  is  gay  with  braided  flowers — but  now — 
You  scarce  can  find  the  place — so  deep  the  snow. 

XXVI. 

Last  summer  I  was  there,  and  recollect, 

Walking  at  even  tide  through  that  lone  spot ; 

The  loneliness  was  lovely,  and  the  effect, 

Was,  as  it  is  !  oh  !  ne'er  can  be  forgot ! 

I  feel  it  now  ;  the  sunset  o'er  the  mountains, 

The  black  birds,  dirge  like  soug,  and  welling  fountains  ; 


IS 


XXVII. 

With  waters  rustling  down  the  darksome  glen  ! 
The  ploughmans  thoughtless  whistle — and  the  bell 
Swelling  its  deep  ton'd  reckoning  ! — solemn  then, 
I  threw  myself  upon  a  tomb — and  well, 
Remember  all  the  busy  thoughts  which  rose, 
Dark  on  my  mind,  rousing  its  vain  repose  ! 

XXVIII. 

There  is  a  mystery,  that  fills  with  awe 
Around  GOD'S  temple  standing  lonely  there  ! — 
Looking  from  its  green  depth*  of  sycamore, 
And  aged  elms — making  communion  fair,-— 
While  far  above  ascends  the  moss  clad  spire, 
With  a  most  holy  light  of  heaven  kissing  fire 

XXIX. 

Hanging  around  it — pointing  silently 

To  the  unknown  of  rest,  above. — It  seems, 

To  tell  the  soul  in  whispering  majesty, 

That  there  is  hope,  when  all  its  earth  born  dreams, 

Have  vanished  into  nothing,  with  old  time  ; — 

With  the  IMMACULATE  PRESENCE  and  SUBLIME  ! 


13 


XXX. 

Then — oh  my  soul — how  gushing  o'er  thee,  came, 
The  visions  of  thine  infancy — now  gone  ! 
Forever  gone  ! — yet  still  thou  wert  the  same  ! — 
Shadows  of  Friends — that  all  forget  to  mourn, 
Seem'd  gliding  o'er  the  place,  in  the  still  air, 
Beck'ning  with  looks  of  love — to  read  a  moral  there  ! 

XXXI. 

There  sleep  the  ancient  and  the  sage  together  ! 
The  enemy  and  lover — low  and  high  ! 
Distinction  hath  no  place  ! — Spring's  sunny  weather, 
The  breeze — the  storm — o'er  quench'd  mortality — 
Pass  each  alike — with  a  strange,  ominous  doom — 
Heedless  alike  of  tangled  sod,  or  vanity's  proud  tomb  ! 

XXXII. 

But  let  this  pass !  a  kind  old  lady  took 
Young  SUKEV  home  with  her,  (a  maiden  aunt) 
Well  versed  in  all  the  arts  which  make  a  cook  ; 
And  this  is  all  some  modern  husbands  want, 
But  she  had  more  to  boast  ;  had  often  read 
The  authors  of  old  days — her  mind  had  fed, 


XXXIII. 

Upon  the  banquetings  of  gods  ;  De  Foe 

Bunyan  and  Stnollet — Richardson — and  others — 

But  best  of  all  her  Bible  prized,  and  so 

You  see,  with  Parsons,  Spinsters — Guardians,  Mothers, 

Altho'  she  boasted  not  of  wealth  and  birth, 

She  passed  for  something  of  exceeding  worth. 

XXXIV. 

When  six  summers — more  or  less,  went  by — 
And  SUKEY  was  thought  old  enough  to  go, 
•  To  school,  aud  learn  her  book — her  destiny 
It  was,  in  a  short  time,  as  you  must  know 
High  praise  to  win  from  the  village  school  dame, 
A  good  old  soul — no  matter  for  her  name. 

XXXV. 

She  never  whipped  her  pupils — for  she  thought 

With  Shenstone's  matron — that  the  green  birch  rod,    (5) 

Upon  the  incorrigible  ne'er  wrought 

A  perfect  work — and  with  the  gentler  would 

Make  matters  worse — quick  freezing  up  the  feelings, 

To  finer  issues  touched  by  such  hard  dealings. 


XXXVI. 

I  have,  indeed,  heard  SUKEY  say  that,  some 

Strange  punishment-*  were  common  with  the  matron  ; 

Namely,  the  pulling  of  the  hair,  a  gentle  doom  ! 

And  soon  forgot,  yet  many  a  mother's  son, 

Knew  that  her  pins  were  sharp,  and  hard  her  thimble 

Struck  on  the  dull  brained  skull,  and  oft  how  nimble, 

XXXVII. 

She'd  sweep  across  the  room — to  shake  some  urchin 

Guilty  of  some  high  wickedness,  such  as, 

Telling  a  falshood,  picking  pockets,  lurching, 

And  other  pranks  of  nature  like — such  as, 

When  life  was  young,  right  often  we  have  seen, 

Those  days,  alas  !  are  gone — would  they  had  never  been. 

XXXVIII. 

And  SUKEY  was  a  favorite — not  only 

With  her  mistress,  but  the  scholars.     She  climb'd 

The  ladder  of  learning,  and  soon  won  the 

Top — such  is  the  pride  of  genius  ! — she  rhym'd 

With  power  poetic — could  recite  JACK  HORNER 

That  selfish  boy — who  ate  his  pie  within  the  corner, 


XXXIX. 

Of  his  own  father's  fire  place  !  and  MOTHER  GOOSE, 
Who  wrote  so  many  wondrous  tales  in  verse  ! 
The  Jack  and  Jill!  ah  !   wretched  friends,  to  lose, 
And  to  be  lost,  was  the  all  fearful  corse, 
Entailed  npon  them  in  their  hoar  of  ill. 
When  both  together  fell  down  the  precipitous  hill ! 


XL. 


The  Man  of  Thessaly  ! — that  mighty  sage 

Who  dared  a  dubious  conflict,  quenched  his  sight, 

And  struggled  for  new  vision  ! — a  dark  page  ! 

Those  of  the  Bo^l  at  Sea  !  One  of  the  Wight, 

Riding  o'er  moonless  skies  !  She  of  the  Shoe, 

Cursed  with  her  progeny  !  and  He,  the  Sleeper,  Blue  !   (6) 

XLI. 

At  home,  she  grew  in  fondness  and  in  love, 
With  that  dear  friend,  the  relative  I  named, — 
Who  watched  her  with  a  tenderness  above 
All  powers  of  language  ;  I  should  be  ashamed 
To  tell  of  ail  she  did.  but  I  must  say 
To  all  ch»  knew  herself,  she  taught  the  way 


17 


XLII. 

In  culinary  lore,  it  wag  her  pride, 
To  make  her  neice,  clever  and  shrewd  and  wise  ; 
In  all  that's  roasted,  toasted,  boiled,  baked,  fried  ; 
Puddings,  tarts,  custards,  syllabubs  and  pies  ! 
Oh  !  I  can  see  her  now,  her  white  arm  out 
Rolling  the  crust,  turning  it  round  about 

XLIII. 

With  taper  fingers,  her'white  apron  on,    ' 
Pure  and  unspotted  as  the  drifted  snow, 
And  smiling  lips — while  ever  and  anon 
Some  lively  song  she  sings  !  the  jocund  flow 
Of  dancing  spirits — bright  with  merriment, 
Such  as  all  feel,  when  life  is  innocent. 

XLIV. 

Time  was — when  maidens  fair — for  pleasures  sake, 

So  say,  the  Scriptures,  read  them,  could  prepare, 

The  fatted  calf  and  bake  an  oatmeal  cake, 

And  of  their  household  take  peculiar  care, 

Or  milk  the  goats,  and  in  the  pastures  range 

To  feed  the  snow  white  flocks — but  times  have  known  a  change  ! 


18 


XLV. 

There  are  but  few,  among  the  pretty  creatures, 
Kind  chance  has  given  to  my  scrutiny, 
Who  think  it  not  a  spoiling  of  their  features 
To  toil  before  a  fire,  —  sad  destiny  — 
Patience  beyond  —  if  they  must  keep  an  eye, 
On  things  belonging  to  such  drudgery  ! 

XLVI. 


******** 
******** 

XLVII. 

Our  daughters  now,  are  taught  French,  German,  Spanish, 
All  tongues,  except  their  own  ;   Italian,  Greek, 
Choctaw  and  Chickasee,  Hebrew,  Scotch,  Danish, 
Dutch,  which  all  allow  they  speak, 
With  a  just  accent,  neither  low  nor  high, 
And  singular  elegance  and  propriety.  — 

XLVIII. 

These  things,  our  Mother's  knew  not,  in  their  days. 
The  vantage  ground  is  ours.     Our  foreign  masters, 


19 


They  who  have  shone  in  courts,  or  played  at  plays, 
Can  teach  us  better  now  ;  some  few  disasters 
May  now  and  then  occur— yet  soon  forgot, 
We  triumph  still  in  our  more  fortunate  lot ! 

XLIX. 

Besides,  there's  something  so  delightful — sweet — 

To  have  one  so  familiar,  and  so  kind  ! — 

Girls,  always  have  some  hero  at  their  feet ; 

And  wonder  how  the  world  can  be  so  blind  ! 

Not  to  perceive  in  that  fine  form — bright  eye, 

The  unfortunate  and  brave  !  like  THADDEUS  SOBIESKI  ! 

L. 

******** 
******** 
******** 

LI. 

I  speak  it  to  their  shame — free  be  it  spoken, 
And  freely  heard  ! — now,  had  I  a  sister, 
My  language  should  be  such  ! —  the  charm  is  broken  ! 
And  for  my  wife — though  I  might  not  resist  her, 
If  she  said,  nay  ! — yet  should  1  love  her  more, 
Would  she  do  this,  and  willingly,  before 
3 


L1I. 


1  told  my  wishes  !   no !   a  lonely  being 

And  bachelor  of  course,  strange,  whimsical, 

All  which  I  am — cannot  at  times  help  seeing 

Some  things  I  cannot  like — all  which  I  shall 

Take  soon  an  opportunity  to  tell, 

When  the  right  hour,  and  humor  bears  me  well ! 

LIII. 

And  years  did  pass  away  !   this  lovely  girl, 

Our  SUKEY,  gathered  to  the  grace  I  sung 

Some  little  while  ago  ! — How  quickly  whirl, 

The  wheels  of  Time — noiseless  as  rose  leaves  flunj 

Upon  the  moonlight  lake  !    oh  !  never  more 

Will  they  return — no  matter  what  they  bore  1 

L1V. 

The  past  is  vanished  !   whether  good  or  ill  ;— 
There  is  no  present — shall  the  future  come  ? 
Alas  !   why  speak  of  that,  it  comes  to  kill, 
So  much  we  know  of  earth, — the  fearful  doom, 
Of  things  which  live,  quick  hurrying  to  the  tomb, 
AH  that  we  love  in  happiness  or  gloom  ! 


LV. 

Yet  there  are  recollections  to  some  hearts, 

Which  prompt  the  mind,  some  wishes  yet  to  coin  !- 

The  chain  forever  winding  never  parts; 

Or  if  it  parts,  the  viewless  links  rejoin 

Binding1  the  spirit,  till  the  destined  hour 

At  last  comes  forth,  and  death's  resistless  power, 

LVI. 

Gives  it  to  light  and  life  ! — hut,  who  can  tell 
How  it  shall  be  with  soul  hereafter  ?  "where 
Unclothed  with  flesh  it  goes? — the  mystic  spell 
Dissolved,  that  charmed  it  to  existence  here  ? 
And  grave  worms  feed  upon  that  body  now, 
That  once  was  rife  with  its  etherial  glow  ! — 

LVII. 

What  is  our  hirth,  hut  sleep  ?  our  death — a  life  ? 
The  soul  that  springs  from  GOD— has  been  before  ! 
Decay,  it  knows  not,  in  our  being's  strife ; — 
Its  glory  is  not  quench'd  ! — and  when  no  more, 
The  shadows  of  our  prison  house  enclose — 
It  passeth,  like  a  star,  from  whence  it  rese  ^ 


LVIH. 

What  are  its  visions  in  this  world  of  things  ? — 

Strife — Love — Ambition — Fame — each  change  e'er  lonj, 

And  then  depart,  like  false  imaginings ; — 

From  youth  to  age — the  fancies  of  a  song; — 

The  visionary  gleamings  of  a  sky, 

Which  brighten  terribly  upon  a  maniac's  eye  J 

LIX. 

It  knows  not,  but  believes,  that  it  will  last, 
When  that,  shall  all  dissolve,  it  now  inherits, 
Like  the  small  dust  upon  the  whirlwind's  blast ; — 
And  be  itself,  immortal,  like  the  spirits 
Of  higher  instincts — and  forever  be, 
Glorious  in  its  own  bright  Eternity  ! — 

LX. 

These  may  be  questions,  rather  metaphysical ; 
They  teach  us,  how  to  think,  and  for  those,  who, 
Like  to  review  such,  well ; — the  phthisical, 
Who  wear  the  hectic  cheek,  and  soon  must  go 
Down  to  the  worms  dwelling — I  would  calmly  say, 
It  is  decreed  ! — be  cheerful  while  you  may  ; 


S3 


LXI. 

Beware  such  pondering — 'tis  preposterous  folly 

Thus  wasting  all  the  spirits  one  may  have  ; 

The  soul  is  sicksned  by  dark  melancholy  ;— 

All  hopes  and  fears,  are  bounded  by  the  grave  ! 

And  when  the  last,  last  lingering  hour,  is  come, 

Look  calmly  in  Death's  face — nor  shudder  at  the  doom  ! 

LXII. 

But  to  return  ! — what  is  a  poem  or  novel, 
Without  two  lovers  with  their  joys  and  sorrows  ? — 
It  is  impossible  to  make  one  go  well, 
Either  for  fame  or  money — though  one  borrows 
All  power  of  language  ; — without  Lovers,  Love — 
You  may  depend  your  book  will  nothing  move  ! 

LXIII. 

And  this  is  not  exceedingly  absurd, 

Though  many  prate  and  swear  that  it  must  be  ; 

Since  LOVE  has  fled  the  earth — like  a  bright  bird 

To  holier  climes — but  this  to  you  and  me, 

Is  idle  all ;  I  do  believe  as  yet, 

It  warmeth  still  young  hearts  who  never  can  forget ! — 


LXIV. 

It  has  its  bovvers  of  rest — rich  springing  flowers  ; 

The  sunshine  of  a  sky,  sweetly  diffusing, 

Its  beams  of  unquenched  light — innocent  hours — 

Bright  tears — chaste  smiles — and  joys  of  heavenly  musing  ! 

It  cannot  die  ! — it  shall  not  pass  away 

But  with  the  soul  of  this  imprisoning  clay  ! — 

LXV. 

Oh  !  'tis  a  holy,  changeless,  nameless  thing  ! 
A  sanctioned  Power — pure  habitant  of  Heaven  ! 
Blessing  seraphic — which  alone  can  bring 
From  its  eternal  Home — whence  all  is  given, 
A  vision  like  itself — that  still  must  be 
The  invisible  emblem  of  the  DEITY  ! 

LXVI. 

Therefore,  I'll  have  a  Lover  in  this  book. 
And  he  shall  love  my  SUKEY — and  she  him  ! 
He  shall  be — what  ? — I  know  not ;  if  you  look 
Over  a  few  ;nore  lines — this  very  whim 
Of  mine,  may  give  some  information 
Concerning  him,  his  character,  vocatioa  ! 


LXVII. 

And  I'll  begin  e'en  now  !  once  lived  a  youth 
Of  a  romantic  turn,  who  knew  his  kind, 
But  as  they  seem'd  to  be,  all  love  and  truth  ! — 
And  he  was  brave  and  generous  ;  of  a  mind, 
That  look'd  above  the  world  with  kindling  eye, 
Holding  communion  with  the  starry  sky  ! — 

LXVIII. 

Much  had  he  read  and  thought ! — and  often  loved 
To  be  alone,  when  he  might  sum  non  forth, 
The  spirits  of  the  past  ! — anJ  w*ien  he  roved, 
Like  a  wild  hunter  of  the  stormy  north, 
The  deepning  valley,  and  the  mountain  high, 
Were  still  his  favorite  haunts !  He  loved  the  cry, 

LXIX. 

Of  eagles  in  their  solitudes  ; — the  roar 
Of  catraracts  ! — the  darkness  of  that  hour, 
When  spectres  are  abroad  ' — the  lonely  shore, 
When  tempests  revelled  in  their  mightiest  power  ! 
Thunierings  and  lightnings — glorious  in  their  might  !- 
Filling  his  breast  with  terrible  delight  ! — 


LXX. 

Oh  !  many  a  time  and  oft,  in  their  young  days, 
Seated  by  sunny  hill  or  valley  green, 
He  would  discourse,  and  her  bright  beauty  praise, 
And  crown  her  with  a  wreath,  and  call  her  queen, 
His  Q,ueen  of  May,  or  sportively  would  shower 
Roses  and  violets  round,  as  her  most  princely  dower  ! 

LXXI. 

Or  scenes,  she  loved  the  best,  he  wished  to  show; — 
To  guide  her  safely  o'er  the  passage  bridge, 
That  cross'd  the  fierce,  dark  torrent,  deep  below, 
And  gaze  upon  the  broad  sun  o'er  the  ridge 
Of  the  far  hills  ; — or  list  the  woods  along 
The  shrill  ton'd  redbreast,  pipe  his  farewel  song  ! 

LXXII. 

Poetry  was  his  idol  and  his  passion  ! 
His  soul's  sun  ! — that  glorified  and  brighten'd  ! — 
And  many  a  song  of  love,  be  oft  could  fashion 
To  win  her  love,  and  thus  merrily  lighten'd 
His  heart  at  times. — It  will  not  take  me  long 
To  copy  in  this  place,  his  favorite  song. — 


i. 

And  they  may  say.  thy  long  dark  hair, 

Clustering  its  shadow'y  flow. 

Is  like  the  raven's  plumage  there, 

Veiling  that  moonlight  brow  ! — 

The  roseate  flush,  that  dyes  thy  cheek, 

All  I'right  with  beauty's  glow  — 

Is  like  the  radiant  crimson  streak, 

Of  sunset  o'er  the  snow  ! 

There  is  a  charm  more  bright  for  me, 
THY  SOUL  OF  SENSIBILITY  ! — 


And  they  may  say,  thy  soft  blue  eye, 
When  raised  its  living  shroud, 
Outshines  the  diamond  gem  on  high, 
That  lights  yon  azure  cloud  ! — 
Thy  lips  as  plants  of  coral  red, 
In  bloom,  where  pearl  drops  shine  ! — 
Thy  breath,  like  heavenly  incense  shed 
From  virtue's  holiest  shrine  ! — 

There  is  a  charm,  more  rich  for  me, 
THY  HEART'S  LONG  PROVED  SINCERITY  ! 

3. 

And  they  may  say,  thy  light  step,  where 

They  wake  the  graceful  dance, 

Is  like,  a  seraph's  motion  there, 

Or  wild  bird's,  swift  winged  glance  ! — 

And  lingering  yet,  thy  form  of  love, 

Is  like,  a  dream  of  heaven  ! — 

Thy  voice,  like  music  breath'd  above, 

Among  the  clouds  of  even ! — 

There  is  a  charm  more  dear  to  me. 

THY  SPIRITS  SPOTLESS  PURITY  ! 


LXXIII. 

He  never  talk'd  of  bridal  hours  as  yet, 

Because,  he  deem'd  dependency  the  devil, 

i 

And  thought  it  wrong,  that  one  must  run  in  debt — 
And  poverty  in  rags,  a  serious  evil. — 
There  is  no  doubt,  much  truth,  in  what  he  said  ; 
Particularly  concerning  love,  and  daily  bread. — 

LXXI7. 

But  it  is  quite  impossible,  that  man, 

Like  that  most  curious  creature  the  chameleon, 

Should  feed  on  air,  or  that  he  ever  can  ; 

E'en  though  he  basks  within  a  king's  pavillion, 

And,  therefore,  he  must  starve,  or  else  must  eat, 

And  money,  is  the  best  thing  to  purchase  meat. — 

LXXV. 

Upon  the  whole,  our  Hero's  fix'd  opinion, 
That  creditors  are  troublesome  sometimes  ; — 
Seems  generally  correct ! — gay  Fortune's  minion 
Disporting  in  the  wealth  of  eastern  climes, 
He,  that  a  rumpled  rose  leaf  would  awake 
From  his  soft  sleep — as  quickly  as  a  snake 


LXXVI. 

Coiling1  around  his  delicate  white  neck, 
May  scarce  believe  such  things  are  ever  so  ; — 
But  those  who  owe,  either  by  bond  or  check, 
Feel  oftentimes  an  agony  of  woe, — 
Mangre  their  hollow  smiles — if  on  the  day 
Of  settlement,  they  can't  their  creditors  pay. 

LXXVII. 

Oh !  dim  wild  world,  we  know  thee  not  as  yet, 

Sufferance  is  ours  ! — the  lot  of  human  kind  ; 

Nothing  endureth  ! — to  live  and  to  forget ; 

To  walk  this  earth  in  faith  ; — though  dark  and  blind. 

And  keep  the  heart  up  in  this  pilgrimage, 

And  make  our  fervent  youth  like  virtuous  age  ; — 

LXXVIII. 

To  seem  and  be  ; — yet  reverently  concealing 
Deep  in  the  bosom  cell  its  passionate  dreams, 
And  as  each  glory,  dazzlingly  revealing 
Its  holiest  charms,  like  spiritual  beams 
From  crowns  of  light,  so  soon  to  pass  away — 
Is  all  we  know  of  Life's  sad  darkness,  or  its  day  ! 


30 


LXXIX. 

And  we  will  now  suppose,  that  we  may  make, 

To  cut,  this  part  of  our  long  story  short — 

I  do  it  simply,  for  my  reader's  sake, 

And  not  my  own,  oh  no  ! — God  knows  there's  naught, 

In  this  large  breathing  world,  I  like  so  well, 

As  stringing  rhymes,  in  this,  my  lonely  cell — 

LXXX. 

And,  if  I  pleased,  I  might  go  on  forever, 

No  matter, — we're  only  now  supposing 

A  parting  of  the  Lovers! — thus  to  sever 

Them  so  soon,  is  hard ; — I  hate  this  prosing, 

I  wish  my  lines  to  sweetly  flow — you  see, 

Like  sun  bright  waves  of  blue — upon  a  summer  sea  !— 

LXXXI. 

******** 
******** 
******** 


31 


LXXXII. 

Well,  thus  it  is  resolv'd  ! — SUKEY,  her  aunt's  permission, 
For  this,  she  thought  her  duty,  dared  to  ask 
To  make  a  visit  to  some  friends, — ambition  ! — 
Might  prompt  some  other  girls,  this  humbling  task, 
Without  reluctance  to  omit 


LXXXIII. 

I  will  not  now  protract,  this  pleasant  story, 

In  speaking  of  the  preparation,  that  She  made, 

How  many  bonnets,  gowns,  and  all  the  glory, 

Of  three,  huge,  closed  pack'd  trunks ; — enough  is  said, 

When  I  affirm,  that  few  within  my  knowledge, 

Have  been  so  well  equip'd  from  fashion's  college. 

LXXXIV. 

It  was  a  Winter's  morning ! — clear  and  bright, 
The  broad  blue  firmament  bowed  down — and  clouds 
In  their  deep  fullness  heaving,  swept  in  light 
Along  the  horizon's  verge,  and  snowy  shrouds 
Hung  beautiful  over  the  mountain's  brow, 
Wide  wrapping  all  the  pride  that  slept  below  j 


LXXXV. 

The  rest  of  Nature  ! — lo  ! — the  warriour  Sun, 

With  bright  hair'd  steeds,  swift  trampling  o'er  the  heaven, 

Drives  on  through  orient  depths,  his  chariot  throne  ! — 

Quick  flash  the  sparks  from  heaven's  red  pavement  driven  ! 

With  banner'd  pomp,  and  trumpet's  pealing  cry, 

Spear,  shield  and  helm  of  light,  in  glorious  panoply  ! — 

LXXXVI. 

The  widow'd  trees,  are  thick  with  diamond  stars 
And  gems  of  lustrous  brilliance  ;  rainbow  hues 
Changing  and  flashing,  through  the  chrystal  spars, 
In  dazzling  splendour,  which  around  diffuse 
The  pageantry's  of  magic  ! — all  are  there — 
Enchantments,  work'd  by  spirits  of  the  air. — 

LXXXVII. 

And  far  away,  the  blue  smoke,  slowly  curling 

From  cottage  roofs ;  and  loose  white  sails  in  motion ; — 

Beacons  along  the  lone  coast,  flags  unfurling, 

Waving  o'er  castled  walls  ; — the  deep  blue  ocean 

Dark  rolling  now,  as  in  its  earliest  hour ; 

Eternal  in  the  strength,  of  its  almighty  power  ! — 


33 


LXXXVIII. 

Such  scenes  are  fraught  with  wisdom ;  and  they  fill 

The  meditative  mind  with  thoughts  sublime  ! — 

What  tho',  no  rural  sounds  awake  the  hill  ? 

The  reaper's  blithe  song  hush'd  a  little  time  ! 

What  though  the  winter  winds  rave  hoarse  and  high, 

And  blighted  all  the  bloom,  which  brighten'd  o'er  the  eye  ?- 

LXXXIX. 

Yet  there  are  lessons  taught,  in  such  an  hour, 
Of  high  morality,  our  souls  to  mend, — 
Teaching  the  best,  by  a  mysterious  power  ! — 
The  Winter  of  Man's  being  ! — who  shall  lend 
Spring,  Summer,  Autumn  to  his  age  again. — 
If  rightly  conn'd,  we  need  not  ask  in  vain. 


XC. 


Such  was  this  Winter's  morning — and  the  stage  sleigh,  (7) 

First  made  a  halt,  where  Sukey's  dwelling  stood  ! — 

I  hope  no  one  has  any  thing  to  say 

'Gainst  this  conveyance — be  it  understood 

That  in  my  time,  I've  often  travell'd  so, 

And  found  it  more  convenient — cheaper  too  !- 


XCL 

'Tis4  but  a  moment,  and  the  parting's  over, 

Shed  is  the  tear,  the  last  warm  grasp  is  given  ; 

The  throbing  pulse  is  still ; — and  thoughts  which  hover, 

In  darkness  o'er  the  soul, — like  clouds  of  even', 

Pass  quick  away, — the  trembling  bosom's  swell 

Is  silent  now,  and  mute  the  sad  farewell ! — 

XCII. 

'Tis  but  a  moment,  and  the  Driver's  ready ; 

His  coat  is  button'd  with  a  knowing  look  ; — 

The  reins  adjusted  now,  right  slow  and  steady; — 

Cracks  the  loud  whip,  and  ratling  bells  are  shook ; — 

Quick  with  a  spring,  he  gains  his  cushion'd  seat, 

And  swift  the  snorting  steeds,  go  rushing  down  the  street  !• 

XCIII. 

******** 
******** 
******** 


35 

• 
XCIV. 

Is  there  a  spot,  more  dearly  lov'd  than  all, 
More  than  all  others,  which  this  world  can  give  ? — 
Where  flowers,  forever  bloom,  and  pleasures  call ! 
For  which  we  dare  to  die,  and  love  to  live  ? 
Where  center  all  the  joys,  our  lives  have  seen  ? — 
Where  days  are  always  bright,  and  nights  serene  ? 

XCV. 

Is  there  a  spot,  to  which  the  exile  turns, 
When  wandering  lonely  on  a  distant  shore  ? 
The  while,  his  struggling  heart  within  him  burns, 
Longing  to  visit  its  fair  scenes  once  more  ! 
Where  pure  ones  dwell,  who  love  his  memory  yet, 
Far  o'er  the  dark  blue  sea,  he  never  can  forget  ? 

XCVI. 

Is  there  a  spot,  where  we  would  ever  be, 
From  cradled  childhood  to  declining  age  ? 
Where  noble  Minds  exult,  and  souls  are  free, 
Glorious  in  light ;  where  dwell  the  brave  and  sage  ? 
The  beautiful  and  bright,  where'er  we  roam  ? 

There  is,  there  is our  Country  and  our  home  ! — 

5 


36 


XCVII. 

My  Country,  oh !  my  Country,  to  the  last, 
The  First  and  Last; — tho'  torn  in  heart  — alone  ! — 
Thou  art  my  dream  ! — but  clouds  have  overpast ! — 
In  all  the  changeful  scenes,  which  I  have  known, 
I  hold  to  Thee,  and  kneel  before  thy  throne, 
Majestic  in  thy  strength,  Thou  Great  Imperial  One  !- 

XCVIII. 

Homeless  ! — Thou  art  my  Mother ! — to  the  end  ! — 

A  wanderer — exile  ! — Thou  wilt  ever  be 

What  Thou  hast  ever  been,  proud  hearts  shall  send 

From  thy  far  lands,  the  omnipotent  and  free  ; 

A  greeting  to  thy  child  ;  for  he  is  thine  ! — 

Oh  God  of  Light,  make  it  thine  altar-shrine  ! — 

XCIX. 

And  Thou  wilt  not  forsake  me,  this  I  know  !— 

Long  years — and  I  revisit  thee  again  ! — 

I  never  ask'd  a  tear  in  all  my  wo  ! — 

Oh !  Earth  of  my  Idolatry  !  in  vain, 

Would  I  uplift  my  heart,  and  pray  Thee  to  forget  !— 

Home  of  my  Sires— thou  art  my  heritance  yet!— 


c. 


But  what's  this  to  the  purpose — I  can't  see, 

Some  one  may  say — perhaps  an  idle  thought, 

It  came  across  my  brain— so  let  it  be  ! 

I  think  the  stanzas  handsomely  are  wrought ; 

And  some  there  are,  whose  feelings  may  be  touch'd 

If  they  have  souls  to  feel — with  what  I  have  avouch'd  ! 


CI. 


'Twas  at  an  evening     *rty,  at  the  mansion 

Where  SUKEY  stayed — as  is  the  custom,  given 

On  her  account — with  liberal  expansion, 

She  met  some  pretty  girls — just  twice  eleven, 

I  like  to  be  exact — eyeing  this  new  comer, 

With  looks  unceasing  ! — did  her  dress  become  her  ?- 


CII. 


It  was  a  white  sprigg'd  muslin  !— and  a  ribbon 
Of  sky  blue  color,  bound  her  taper  waist; — 
She  never  look'd  so  handsome  !  and  even  GIBBON, 
Would  then  have  prais'd  her  very  pretty  taste  ; 
Aye  !  had  he  seen  her  wave  her  spangled  fan, 
In  presence  of  his  love,  sweet  Susan  of  Lausanne  I 


cm. 

This  GIBBON  was  an  infidel ;  he  loved  ! — 

And  rosy  wreaths  were  twin'd  around  his  heart ; — 

Pure  and  eternal  as  this  passion  proved, 

It  could  not  break  those  principles  apart, 

Which  form'd  his  whole  existence  ! — there  in  vain 

The  tempter  came — but  could  not  burst  the  chain  ! — 

CIV. 

Such  is  man's  destiny,  traced  out  by  Heaven  ! 

And  who  shall  mar  it  in  this  breathing  scene  ! — 

Enough  !  thou  creature  of  the  dust!  is  given 

To  make  thee  wise,  and  teach  thee  how  to  glean 

The  field  of  human  hopes — however  small — 

If  CURCHOD  had  been  true — where  would  have  been  DE  STAHL  ? 


CV. 


Oh  !  LOVE  ! — and  yet  we  never,  ne'er  can  know, 

Thy  spiritual  essence  ; — we  are  content 

To  creep  along,  and  in  our  beings  flow, 

To  make  thee  like  a  sea  ; — thou  art  not  spent — 

Within  the  inmost  parts  of  our  mind's  vision, 

We  cling  to  thee  as  yet,  pure,  bright,  elysian ! — 


39 


CVI. 

And  yet, — let  but  this  being  sleep  in  hope, 

All  that  we  know,  we  never  would  redeem  ! — 

We  do  not  ask  it — if  it  still  must  cope 

With  our  most  earnest  longings  ; — Shall  the  beam 

With  this  existence  fade  ? — and  thus  faintly  pass, 

Like  dreams  of  spectres  in  a  magic  glass  ? — 

CVII. 

And  is  this  all,  dread  dreamer,  when  life's  o'er  ? — 
Dim  star-light  of  a  night,  when  clouds  are  dark? — 
The  lonely  flow  of  waves,  without  a  ihore  ? — 
No  heaven  of  blue,  with  its  all-glorious  spark, 

40B 

To  light  its  mysteries  forth,  cheering  the  gloom 
Of  this  dark  vale,  brightniog  beyond  the  tomb  ! — 

CVIII. 

Oh  yes !  my  soul  !  there  is,  a  sabbath  home, 

For  thee,  hereafter,  an  invisible  dwelling! 

Of  spirits  pure,  who  never  doubt  their  doom ; — 

Exulting  !  thou  shalt  claim  it,  brightly  swelling 

In  that  immortal  and  unwithering  bloom  ! 

Sceptred,  and  winged,  and  crowned — the  eternal  throne  assume  ! 


CIX. 


Well,  our  SUKEY,  passed  that  bright  reviewing  J 

Return'd  the  eye  stare  in  a  modest  way ! 

Taking  all  opportunities  of  showing 

Her  better  qualities  of  heart !  in  play 

Of  coquetry — like  April  sunbeams  shining 

Through  hovering  cloud*  of  mist,  on  woody  hills  reclining  !- 

CX. 

But  I  shall  have  occasion  very  soon, 

Of  saying  something1  more  about  these  maidens ! — 

My  watch  informs  me  'tis  the  hour  of  noon  ! 

And  I'm  obliged  to  read  a  poem  of  LEYDEN'S,  (8) 

Before  I  dine — but  first  a  verse  I'll  write, 

To  shew  some  characters  in  proper  light ! — 

CXI. 

MUSE  ! — shall  I  tell  their  names  !  the  first  is  MARY, 
A  laughing,  lively  girl,  with  eyes  of  grey, 
Her  form  is  of  the  royal  stamp,  (but  wary 
Let  me  be)  gay — jocund,  as  month  of  May  ! 
A  heart,  soft,  frank,  and  generous,  with  a  soul 
That  never  fears,  and  ne'er  will  brook  controul ! — 


41 

CXII. 

FLORENCE,  is  fair  and  gentle,  but  inclined 

Too  much  to  ope  her  feelings  to  a  crowd, — 

A  soul  all  tenderness,  and  taste  refin'd, 

With  judgment,  just  enough,  and  sweetly  proud; — 

No  one,  would  call  her  beautiful,  but  grace 

Is  in  her  mien,  and  sunshine  in  her  face. — 

CXIII. 

And  IDA  too,  who  now  is  far  away, 

The  young  and  delicate,  whose  harp  can  wake 

The  spirit  dreamings  of  a  brighter  day, 

Her  syren  voice  of  melody  would  make 

The  blood  of  Eld,  quicken  with  livelier  flow; 

And  melt  from  frozen  hearts,  a  generous  tear  for  wo ! — 

CXIV. 

And  ANGELA,  with  down-cast  look  of  love, 

The  enthusiast  of  romance  ! — with  pallid  cheek, 

And  forehead  wan,  where  strange  thoughts  seem  to  move ! 

Yet  is  she  woman  all,  fond,  kind,  and  meek, 

That  you  must  love  her,  tho'  you  hate  romance  ; 

And  grant,  that  soul  beams  forth  in  every  tearful  glance. 


cxv. 

Oh  !  who  shall  e'er  forget  ELIZABETH  ! 
With  heart  as  pure,  as  diamond  waters  flow  ! 
Modest,  as  lily  flower,  o'er  which  the  breath, 
Of  summer  wind?,  ne'er  pass'd,  lone  hid  below 
In  garland  woven  caves,  where  Love  is  sleeping ! 
And  unsunned  fountains  in  their  stillness  weeping ! — 

CXVI. 

Biit  too  retiring,  and  of  feelings  cold, 

Like  that  chaste  virgin  of  the  crescent  crown  ! — 

Yet,  have  I  seen  her,  when  a  tale  was  told, 

Dash  pity's  tear,  stealing  her  cheek  adown, 

And  brighten  in  her  beauty — and  the  swell 

Of  her  full  soul,  shine  out,  most  eloquently  well ! — 

CXVII. 

ONE  more  ;  yes,  'tis  a  shape  of  loveliness  ! 
Of  earth,  and  yet  of  heaven,  that  matchless  shines  !- 
Like  that,  the  angel  wears,  who  comes  to  bless, 
The  loved  in  life  and  death,  whose  faith  resigns, 
All  fears,  and  joys,  and  dreams,  of  mortal  time, 
Then  soars  on  plumes  of  light,  in  majesty  sublime  !- 


CXVIII. 

Oh  yes,  of  heaven  and  earth  too  surely  made  ! — 

Why  is  it  o'er  the  sun,  black  clouds  will  sweep  ? — 

Why  do  the  ros-33  of  the  garden  fade  ? — 

Why  swell  the  storm  waves,  o'er  the  moonlight  deep  ?- 

And  why  art  thou,  all  lovely  as  thou  art, 

Doom'd  still  to  try,  the  mockeries  of  the  heart? — 

CXIX. 

I  know  not  why,  nor  is  it  mine  to  know  ; — 
All  are  but  dreamings  of  existence  here  ! 
Bringing  too  much  of  happiness  or  wo  ! — 
Withering  the  plants,  springing  and  blooming  fair  ! — 
Shedding  aroun  1  a  flame-of  dazzling  tight, 

Like  meteors  flashing  o'er  the  dungeon's  night! — 

• 

cxx. 

But  none,  can  know  thee,  who  will  love  thee  not ! — 
Feeling,  and  taste,  and  genius,  all  are  thine  ! — 
And  friendship  tells  a  tale — that  ne'er  forgot, 
Will  hover  o'er  the  Future,  like  the  sign 
That  hung*  o'er  Israel's  march,  cheering  the  way ! 
A  phantom  vision  ! — never  to  fade  away ! — 


CXXI. 

*          *       x  *          *          *          *          *          * 

******** 


CXXII. 

My  dinner  was  but  poor  to-day,  and  cooked 
Most  wretchedly — some  have  no  compassion, 
For  us  lean  men ! — I'm  sure  they  never  looked 
(I  mean  the  cooks)  into  that  Glass  of  fashion  ; — 
The  book  wherein — they're  counselled  to  take  heed, 
"First  catch  a  Turbot,  then  you  thus  proceed" — 

CXXIII. 

The  why  and  wherefore,  I  could  never  learn  ! — 

But  there  are  things  I  like — a  haunch  of  Venison  ! 

Geese  !  Salmon  !  Brants  !  new  butter  from  the  churn ! 

And  fresh  laid  Eggs ! — and  when  I  see  the  hens  on 

Their  straw  built  nests — I  always  scare  them  off — 

For  eggs,  are  daintiest,  new — tho'  squeamish  persons  scoff !  (9) 


CXXIV. 

I've  dined  at  great  men's  tables,  and  I  would, 

So  heaven  help  me,  dine  there,  every  day  ; 

I  like  their  liquors,  often  they  are  good ; — 

Strange  things  are  often  told — but  'tis  my  way, 

Ne'er  to  dispute  the  master  of  the  feast, 

E'en  though  his  Wines  are  sour,  his  Porter,  yeast !—  (10) 

cxxv. 

And  I  can  bear  my  bottle,  and  more  could, 
Under  my  belt,  nor  feel  my  brain  the  lighter; 
Clarets  my  favorite,  though  Madeira's  good — 
Champaigne  is  well  enough,  to  make  wits  brighter, 
Yet  could  I  have  my  choice,  as  the  best  sort, 
To  make  men  merry — I  should  choose  Old  Port. 

CXXVI. 

Not  long  ago,  (by  way  of  episode) — 

A  party  were  invited  out  to  dine, 

By  some  one  of  our  friends — who  often  showed 

He  had  a  cultivated  taste  for  wine  ; — 

He  promised  them  that  day — to  give  his  best, 

All  were  delighted,  and  their  joy  confest ! — 


4(5 


CXXVII. 

They  met — dined — dessert  prepared — C —  looked  wise, 
And  now,  much* more  important  far,  than  ever, — 
"Here,  John,  go  fill  me  from  the  bin  I  prize, 
In  the  small  arch,  under  the  front  room  cellar, 
These  wine  decanters — and  be  very  careful, 
Bin,  number  two, — why  do  you  stare,  you  fool ! — 

CXXVIII. 

f 

Vanish,  begone  !" — John  slowly  shook  his  head, 

Looked  strange,  and  knit  his  brows — and  straight  departed  ;- 

"Now — this  wine,  Gentlemen,  as  I  have  said, 

His  cross'd  the  Atlantic — thrice — was  started 

Some  fifteen  years  ago — I  beg  you'll  mark, 

First  from  the  cargo — of  our  ship,  the  Lark ; 

CXXIX. 

I  don't  pretend  to  say — there's  none — like  mine, 
A  host,  you  know,  should  never  boast — and  you" — 
"Well,  John, — aye  !  this  looks  something  like  the  wine — 
You  took  it  from  the  Bin — mark'd  number  two? 
Where  did  you  gat  it  from  ?" — he  smiling  cries, 
And  winks  the  servant — with  lack-lustre  eyes  ! 


cxxx. 

"Where  did  I  get  it,"  and  John  turn'd  away — 
"Why,  from  the  cellar,  sir," — -'and  pray  what  bin  ? 
You  understand — from  number  two,  you  say  ?" — 
"No — from  the  demijohn — sent  home  to-day, 
From  STACKPOLE'S  store— I  hope  I've  done  no  sin — 
But  as  ibr  Number  Two — I  couldn't  find  that  Bin  ! — 

CXXXI. 

But  once  more  to  return,  I'm  always  straying, 
From  my  sweet  SUKEY,  and  the  evening  party  ! — 
When  all  was  over,  and  each  done  surveying, 
They  all  appear' d  to  be,  more  frank  and  hearty, 
Mute  was  the  tongue  of  Envy,  and  the  eye 
Of  Jealousy  was  veiled,  and  Love  stood  smiling  by! — 

CXXXII. 

Ring  after  ring,  quick  at  the  front  door  peal'd ; — 

More  visitors  announced; — the  rooms  were  throug'd, 

Blithely  and  briefly,  and  around  revealed, 

A  galaxy  of  beauty  ! — eyes  have  long'd 

To  see  such  sights — so  wonderfully  sheen, 

All  loveliness  and  bloom,  but  yet  have  never  seen  ! 


48 

CXXXIII. 

Soon  might  be  heard,  light  whisperings  and  the  voices 
Of  happy  human  creatures,  in  their  mirth  ! — 
Oh  !  who  will  ask— if  most  that  soul  rejoices, 
Whose  face  is  constant  flashing  with  the  birth 
Of  roselip  smiles — if  there  no  darkness  hovers  ? — 
And  happiness  within  the  only  garb  that  covers  ? — 

CXXXIV. 

If  wise,  forbear — such  hours  must  pass  away  i-r— 
And  midnight,  morning,  comes — alas  !  too  soon  ! — 
Why  lift  the  festal  mask,  when  all  is  gay  ? — 
Lights,  music,  laughter,  all  will  soon  be  gone  !— 
Why  coldly  blight  Life's  little  pleasures  now, 
Or  ask,  if  that  be  joy  which  sparkles  o'er  the  brow  ? — 

cxxxv. 

Match  me,  ye  belles,  one  dancer  like  that  girl  ? 
She  of  the  bright  blue  eye — now  gently  bending, 
In  graceful  elegance — now  in  the  whirl, 
Of  Fancy's  maze — her  white  long  arm  extending, 
To  meet  her  stupid  partner's  ungloved  fingers, 
Her  busy  feet  quick  glancing  ! — mark!  she  lingers, 


CXXXVI. 

That  he  may  overtake  her — fearful  creeping     . 
Like  some  dull  truant,  who  expects  a  whipping, 
Or  like  a  dormouse  after  six  months  sleeping, 
Or  cautious  Pantaloon — afraid  of  slipping 
Down  a  smooth  icy  hill ! — this  for  aught  I  know, 
May  be  all  right ; — but  twenty  years  ago, 

CXXXVIL 

When  I  was  young — such  things  have  strangely  changed, 

The  dancers  then,  some  show  of  spirit  had, 

When  light  along  the  floor  they  nimbly  ranged 

In  sprightly  wheelings  ! — now,  they  seem  as  sad 

As  soldiers  marching,  when  a  death  drum  beats, 

Or  mourners  in  black  weeds,  who  go  about  the  streets! — 

CXXXVHI. 

But  now,  the  dance  is  ended — and  the  trays 

Come  furnished  in,  with  sweetmeats,  creams,  and  fruits, 

And  hands  and  mouths  are  busy ; — long  delays 

Are  dangerous  now — and  ill  the  occasion  suits 

Those  who  have  come  half  fatnish'd  here  to  eat ! — 

He  only  is  the  wise,  who  ne'er  expects  a  treat ! — 


50 


CXXXIX. 

How  sly  that  tall  boy  looks — as  any  cat ! — 

Aye — he  has  filched  a  cream  cake  from  the  board, 

An  enterprise  of  skill ! — That  man  of  fat, 

The  Falstaff  of  the  crowd,  has  got  his  hoard 

Of  nuts  and  raisins, — each  for  number  one  ; — 

The  conduct  of  the  world  for  ages  past  and  gone ! — 

CXL. 

"Sir,  shall  I  trouble  you  to  hand  a  custard1' 

"Why,  Mr.  K — I  can't  see  one  as  yet," 

"You've  spoilt  my  new  coat — with  that  c — d  mustard, — 

Pray  be  more  careful" — "  'Tis  useless,  Sir,  to  fret" — 

"Miss  L —  will  take  an  orange  " — "Will  she  ?  ah! 

Go  round  the  other  side — they're  better,  far  !" 

«\  ^ 

CXLI. 

"Why,  where  are  all  the  knives  ? — dear  C —  lend 

Me  yours,  to  cut  this  ham — your  charming  wife." 

"  'Twould  give  me  pleasure,  but  you  know  my  friend, 

I  have  as  yet  ate  nothing.*' — "oh !  that  knife, 

You've  run  it  through  my  hand." — "Sir,  no  matter!" — 

"Sir,  let  me  tell  you." — -'don't  keep  such  a  chatter  !" 


51 


CXLII. 

And  Beauty  holds  but  small  advantage  here, 
The  age  of  gallantry  is  gone — and  gone 
Those  courtesies  of  life,  that  make  life  dear ; — 
Where  are  the  gentle  hearts  to  give  the  tone 
To  manners  as  they  should  be,  and  to  show, 
What  bright  examples,  from  politeness  flow  ! — 

CXLIII. 

Yea,  'tis  a  shame,  that  those  whose  rank  is  high, 
Who  sweep  along  with  fashion's  sceptred  power; 
Should  be  so  cold  and  mean,  in  vain  they  try 
The  semblance  of  good  breeding,  or  its  power, — 
When  every  word,  look,  actioa,  proves  their  soul 
Is  wrapp'd  in  self  alone. 

CXLIV. 

Go  when  you  will,  you  see  them  every  where, 

These  monkies  of  Monboddo,  without  tails, 

With  shape  indeed  of  men,  but  minds  as  bare 

Of  sense,  as  is  a  new  shorn  chin,  these  snails 

And  worms  of  earth,  blighting  the  ground  they  crawl 

Seem  made  but  for  themselves,  this  earth  their  all  in  all. 

7 


CXLV. 

Now  in  a  knot  the  literati  there, 

Are  holding  high  discourse,  for  each  to  scan, 

Sententious  paragraphs  and  maxims  rare? — 
\ 

"What,  not  read  his  Lordship's  last  Don  Juan  ?" — 
"Pray  Miss,  what  think  you  of  the  last  Review?"— 
"Somethings  were  good  ;  but  nothing  very  new" — 

CXLVI. 

"Why  S —  I  am  astonished  !  not  seen  him  yet  ? — 
But  you  will  be  delighted  with  our  KEAN  ! — 
Let  critics  talk  about  his  tricks,  and  fret, 
And  tell  of  things  which  are,  and  long  have  been  ! 
He  moves  alone,  flashing  in  peerless  light, 
Sweeping  a  burning  track,  the  comet  of  a  night." 

CXLVII. 

It  comes  at  last !  the  vision  pomps  sublime  ! 
All  that  we  dreamt  of  in  our  earliest  hours ! 
Instinct  with  life  from  a  mysterious  clime  ! — 
Matchless  Magician  of  majestic  powers  ! 
The  Prophet  of  the  Past! — we  now  behold, 
THOU  of  the  purple  robe,  and  diadem  of  gold  !  (11) 


CXLVIII. 

The  essential  inspiration,  that  could  make 

The  glorious  immortalities  of  mind  ! 

From  thine  forth  springing — bright  forms,  uncreate 

Of  clay — and  yet  as  palpably  combined 

With  our  own  kind,  as  though  each  walk'd  the  earth, 

And  held  like  human  things,  the  boon  of  common  birth  ! 

CXL1X. 

Like  to  the  monarch  mountain  pine  outflinging, 
Its  thousand  warriour  arms  when  storms  are  gone  ! — 
Like  to  the  Eagle  bird  sublimely  winging 
Through  azure  depths — engirdled  with  a  zone 
Of  earth  consuming  fires — dread,  fearless,  lone, 
Hovering  in  glory  round  the  Thunderers  throne  ! — 


CL, 


Like  to  the  mighty  rock  supremely  swelling, 

With  sun  gilt  crest,  above  the  rolling  sea  ! 

In  that  eternity  of  waves — proud  dwelling 

Unscathed,  in  its  own  grand  immensity  ! 

When  thunder  clouds  are  sweeping  by  in  terror, 

©r  when  the  ocean  shines  a  chrystal  moonlight  mirror  ! 


5* 

CLI. 

Imperial  SHAKSPEARE  ! — was  thy  bosom  torn, 

When  thou  wert  wrapt  in  extacy  divine  ? 

How  did  thy  heart  exult,  when  high  upborne, 

By  seraph  shapes — bowing  before  GOD'S  shrine  ? — 

Or  when  the  world  of  dreams  rolled  o'er  thy  sight? — 

Wert  thou  not  phrenzied,  when  the  o'erwhelming  light 

GUI. 

Poured  like  a  cataract  down  ? — Sovereign  pwwer  ! 

Was  not  thy  vision  blasted — quenched  in  night  ? 

Fire,  Promethean,  stealing  ? — no  human  dower 

Was  thine  ! — Time  wings  his  weaned,  ceaseless  flight, 

Till  the  sun  sets  in  blood  ! — but  earth  no  more, 

Shall  look  on  One  like  Thee  ! — that  hope  is  past  and  o'er ! 

CLIII. 

We  have  beheld  !  and  trembled  ! — but  'tis  gone  ! 

All  burst  to  sight,  then  vanished  from  the  eye, 

Like  thronging  hosts  of  angels — when  are  blown 

The  silver  trumps  of  morning  minstrelsy  1 

Waving  aloft  their  star  gemtn'd  banners  fold, 

Soaring  on  rainbow  wings,  with  radiant  crowns  of  gold  ! 


55 

CLIV. 

"He  will  return  to  France,  and  live  alone, 

To  meditate  and  write." — "Pray  where's  his  wife, 

They  say  the  daughter  of  that  lonely  one, 

Is  like  her  Father."— "Really,  take  her  life  !"— 

"Then  you  do  think  that  WALTER  SCOTT  has  written 

Those  famous  novels  ?" — "I  thought  his  heart  was  smitten.'1 

CLV. 

"No  I  can't  say  so — the  Black  Dwarf  is  mine." — 

"Yes,  he  is  very  handsome." — "Who  is  Morris." — 

"A  worthy  fellow,  loving  his  lass  and  wine !" — 

"But  Campbell,  Rogers,  Wordsworth." — "Mr.  Norris 

Will  you  oblige  me." — "That  I  may  safely  grant, 

He  has  the  wealth  of  kings — poor  Otway  died  of  want." — 

CLVI. 

"But  Byron  stands  upon  the  pinnacle 

Of  earthquakes  shatter'd." — "Lord,  it  may  be  soon." 

"When  tempest  spirits  ride." — "Well  Sir,  the  binnacle  !"- 

"And  couch  their  meteor  spears." — "My  task  is  done, 

My  theme  into  an  echo — it  is  fit — " 

"Is  it  not  beautiful  ?" — "Moore  ?" — "protracted,  writ  is  writ.' V 


CLVII. 

Hark  !  there's  a  tumult  in  the  hall  helow  ! — 

Louder  it  grows — the  ladies  are  affrighted, 

And  all  stand  wondering — and  their  faces  show, 

That  carmine  tints  are  very  often  blighted 

By  linen  handkerchiefs,  as  well  as  fear  ! — 

And  now  an  Afric's  form  is  seen — what  does  he  here  ?- 

CLVIII. 

His  tale  is  quickly  told ! — He  came  to  hear 

A  letter  from  his  master  to  the  lady 

Who  was  the  mistress  of  the  mansion  there, 

That  stated  in  few  words — "That  one  already, 

Known  as  a  friend  of  old — would  wait  upon  her, 

If  she,  being  disengaged,  would  grant  that  honor  ; 

CLIX. 

Having  just  landed  from  a  hrigantine, 

Taken  in  fight,  that  evening,  in  the  bay, 

After  a  desperate  conflict ;  and  in  fine, 

The  morning  sun  would  see  him  on  his  way, 

For  friends  he  loved — but  first  he  wished  to  see, 

The  patron  of  his  youth — whom  he  loved  tenderly  !'* 


CLX. 

Such  were  the  words,  I  think  that  letter  put  in  : 

The  story  of  the  Afric  more  complete ; 

He  said  it  was  the  hour  when  daylight  shut  in, 

And  grey-plumed  twilight  comes — far  from  the  fleet, 

A  stranger  sail  bore  down— and  hoisted  high, 

Her  blood  red  banner  o'er  the  evening  sky  ! 

CLXF. 

Then  came  the  farewell  greetings  of  brave  men, 
Who  ne'er  might  meet  upon  the  deck  again  ! — 
Then  all  was  hushed  and  silent — saving  when 
The  boatswain's  whistle  shrilly  sung! — in  vain 
We  looked  for  safety,  and  a  fearful  chillness 
Crept  o'er  the  heart ! — when  suddenly,  that  stillness 

CLXII. 

Was  broken  up  ! — a  cannon  shot  came  booming, 
O'er  the  long  waves  ! — it  sunk  before  our  prow; 
They  gain  upon  us,  the  darkening  seas  illuming 
With  flaky  light — ranging  beside  us  now, 
Their  ground  tier  opes  its  black  artillery 
In  thunderings  and  flames — quick  and  incessantly, 


CLXIII. 

The  guns  rolled  forth  over  the  heaving  water, 

And  in  that  smokey  canopy — they  tried, 

And  grappled  with  our  own  good  ship ! — the  slaughter 

Cry  was  heard — and  many  a  brave  one  died ! — 

Sabres  dripped  drunk  with  gore  !  and  muskets  pealing, 

Mingled  their  dreadful  echoing  with  the  yelling 

CLXIV. 

Of  Paynims,  as  they  dropped  down  by  the  side 

Of  the  dark  ships  ! — our  bloody  deck  was  gained  ! 

Rushed  on  the  renegadoes — the  war  tide 

Swelled  high  ! — then  sunk  ! — in  vain  we  might  have  strained, 

Our  heart  strings  in  the  struggle,  had  not  HE, 

That  saviour  youth,  been  there,  to  give  us  victory ! 

CLXV. 

Where  thickest  raged  the  fight — he  fought  alone  ! — 
Quick  swept  his  blade,  most  terrible  in  death, 
Crimsoned  with  gore,  a  bloody  meteor  shone ! — 
With  every  blow — a  shriek  of  parting  breath  ! — 
With  every  flashing  stroke — a  life  was  gone  ! — 
They  fell  around  him,  as  the  ripened  corn 


CLXVI. 

Before  the  reaper's  sickle  ! — his  battle  cry 

E'en  the  half  dying  heard — and  rose  to  listen, 

To  catch  the  welcome  sound — and  then  to  die. — 

That  sword  of  power  !  e'en  now,  I  see  it  glisten 

Amid  the  sulpherous  gloom,  with  awful  quivering, 

The  black  clouds  of  the  storm — like  lightning  shivering  ! 

CLXVII. 

It  was  a  fearful  hour  ! — The  Pirate  Chief 

Swept  on — his  tiger  eyeballs  burning  start ! — 

Their  cutlass  blades  whirled  fire  ! — oh  !  fierce  and  brief, 

That  conflict  dread — the  steel  has  scorched  his  heart  !• — 

He  falls — flashed  o'er  his  brow,  hell's  lurid  fires ! — 

The  GOD  OF  CHRISTIANS,  curses — and  expires  ! — 

CLXVIII- 

******** 
******** 
******** 

CLXIX. 

The  Stranger  Youth  is  come — who  won  the  fight !— - 

la  all  that  crowd,  alone  whom  sees  he  then  ? — 
8 


60 


Whose  eyes  are  weeping — when  before  her  sight, 
She  sees  the  Loved  of  infancy — again  ! — 
HE,  the  enthusiast — that  romantic  boy ! 
HE,  that  my  SUKEY  loves  ! 

€LXX. 

But  why  protract  the  tale  ? — In  idle  hour 
I  seized  my  Harp — but  now  its  strings  are  riven  ! 
Its  music  thrills  not  o'er  my  soul  in  power, 
As  once  it  chimed,  to  holy  echoings  given ! 
It  was  my  pride  when  earthly  joys  were  gone, 
And  I  could  feel  myself  not  quite  alone  ! — 

CLXXJ. 

Farewell  to  Thee  awhile  ! — there  is  a  feeling 
Of  wildering  darkness  now,  that  mocks  at  rhyme  ! — 
There  was  a  time,  when  o'er  the  bosom  stealing, 
Far  other  hopes  were  mine  ! — There  was  a  time 
The  memories  of  years,  too  mournful  tell ! — 
There  was  a  time,  when  thy  full  hallowed  swell 

Was  like  Religion  ! — Say,  are  these  visions  past  ?- 
I  know  not  now,  but  rest,  .as  if  this  were  my  last !- 


NOTE  S. 


NOTE  I. 

a such  as  FRANCIS, 

Thai  Prince  nf  gallantry — I  now  allude 
To  him  of  Gaui" 

FRANCIS  I  King  of  France.  He  was  successor  of  Lewis  XII.  He  flour' 
i=hed  from  1515  to  J547,  when  he  died  at  Ramboulliet.  Hi?  life  wa.<-  t\'>->  in- 
guished  by  many  eventful  vicissitude*.  The  famous  battle  of  Marignan, 
fought  against  the  Swiss,  and  his  military  expedition?  in  Navarre,  have  made 
him  illustrious  as  a  warrior.  It  is  well  remembered,  that  the  treaty  of  Noj  on, 
(tl.e  eternal  treaty  of  peace,)  lasted  indeed  only  two  days,  that  was  made 
between  him  and  Charles  V.  Soon  after  the  siege  and  victory  of  Pavia,  he 
was  taken  prisoner  in  a  tremendous  charge,  which  it  is  said  he  headed  in  per 
son,  and  on  this  occasion,  wrote  the  letter  to  his  mother,  which  is  reported  to 
be  extant ;  and  in  which  he  says — "That  he  had  lost  his  all  in  the  world — ex 
cept  his  honor/'  Several  truces  and  leagues  were  made  and  as  suddenly  brok 
en  up  between  the  rival  covereigns — but  the  assistance  which  his  distinguish 
ed  enemy  received  from  Henry  VIII.  of  England  gave  in  tht  upshot  of  their 
long  and  hateful  national  struggles,  a  decidedly  unquestionable  advantage  to 
the  allied  sovereignties,  Peace  was  concluded  with  Germany  in  1544  and  in 
154t!— 7  with  England. 

Francis  was  the  Patron  of  letters,  and  one  of  the  most  accomplished  prin 
ces  and  courtly  gentlemen  that  ever  sat  upon  a  throne.  The  splendid  re 
flections  which  Dr.  Robertson  has  given  upon  his  character  and  his  rivalship 
•with  Charles  V.  is  altogether  unequalled  in  the  annals  of  fine  historical  writing- 
There  is  not  a  man  of  letters  who  should  not  be  as  familiar  with  it,  as  with  his 
alphabet.  Francis  was  indeed  one  of  the  extraordinary  of  the  earth. — 
"Notwithstanding  the  many  errors  conspicuous  in  his  foreign  policy  and  do 
mestic  administration,  he  was,  nevertheless  humane,  btneficentand  generous. 
He  possessed  dignity  without  pride  ;  affability  free  from  meanness,  and  court- 
eey  exempt  from  deceit.  All  who  liad  access  to  him  (and  no  man  of 


was  ever  denied  that  privilege)  respected  and  loved  him.  Captivated  with 
his  personal  qualities,  his  subjects  forgot  his  defects  as  a  monarch,  and  admir 
ing  him  as  the  most  accomplished  gentleman  in  his  dominions ;  they  never 
murmured  at  acts  of  mal-administration,  which  in  a  Prince  of  less  engaging 
disposition  would  have  been  deemed  unpardonable.  Science,  in  his  time,  and 
the  Arts  made  little  progress  in  France.  They  were  just  beginning  to  advance 
beyond  the -limits  of  Italy,  where  they  had  revived,  and  which  had  hitherto 
been  their  only  seat.  Francis,  took  them  immediately  under  his  protection 
and  vied  with  Leb  himself,  in  the  zeal  and  munificence  with  which  he  en 
couraged  them.  He  invited  learned  men  to  his  Court  ;  he  conversed  with 
them  familiarly  ;  he  employed  them  in  business  ;  he  raised  them  to  offices  of 
dignity,  and  honored  them  with  his  confidence.  That  race  of  men,  not  more 
prone  to  complain  when  denied  the  respect  to  which  they  fancy  themselves 
entitled,  than  apt  to  be  pleased  when  treated  with  the  distinction  which 
they  consider  as  their  due,though  they  i  culd  not  exceed  in  gratitude  to  such  a 
benefactor,  strained  their  invention  and  employed  all  their  ingenuity  in 
panesyric.  The  appellation  of  Father  of  Letters,  bestowed  upon  Francis  hath 
rendered  his  memory  sacred  among  historians,  and  they  seemed  to  have  re 
garded  it  as  a  sort  of  impiety  to  uncover  his  infirmities,  or  to  point  out  his 
defects." 

Such  is  the  language  of  eulogy  in  which  Robertson  writes,  and  never  was 
the  language  of  eulogy,  more  like  truth.  Other  later  historians  have  adopted 
yery  dissimilar  sentiments — but  their  opinions  when  placed  in  hostility  to 
those  which  1  have  chosen  to  adopt  from  the  profound  and  magnificent 
writings,  already  set  forth,  seem  to  me,  altogether  ill  founded  and  insecure. 


NOTE  II.    * 

"  This  pastime  had  its  rise — when  Jlrthur  wore 
The  crtwn  of  Bntian  and  her  red  cross  shield. — " 

This  may  be  deemed  with  those  who  know  any  thing  about  the  earlier 
history  of  Britian,  an  allowable  anachronism  in  invention.  The  national 
standard  of  England  was  originally  a  white  cross,  in  the  time  of  the  crusades, 
while  the  French  was  oriflame,  a  red  cros».  When  they  were  beaten  by 
Henry  V.  at  the  battle  of  Agincourt,  this  emblem  of  their  sovereignly  was 
lost.  Be  it,  moreover,  understood,  that  a  reasonable  pretence  of  subjection, 
induced  the  English  kings  to  adopt  the  red  cross  of  France.  The  Dauphin, 
Charles  VII.  according  to  some  historical  facts  set  down  in  some  work  that 
I  have  met  with,  changed  the  ensign  to  a  white  cross,  that  being  intended 
to  represent  the  national  colour  ;  hi?  own  ensign  was  white,  and  it  has  erer 
lince  been  distinguished  by  the  name  of  la  cornette  blanche. 


I  need  say  nothing  here  of  ARTHUR,  his  Knights  and  Round  Table  :  Duu- 
lop,  iii  his  History  of  Fiction,  has  been  sufficiently  prolix  on  this  subject ;  and 
the  old  English  Chronicles  and  Romances,  abound  with  stories  of  him  and 
his  Court.  The  elegant  poet,  Warton,  has  written  a  sonnet  on  king  Arthur's 
Round  Table,  which,  I  shall  here  transcribe,  as  it  is  not  generally  to  be  met 
with. 

Where  \[enta's  Norman  castle  still  uprears 

Its  raftered  hall,  that  o'er  the  grassy  foss, 

And  scattered  flinty  fragrants,  clad  in  moss 

On  yonder  steep  in  naked  state  appears  ; 

High  hung  remains,  the  pride  of  warlike  years, 

Old  4,3r//mr'*  Board  •  on  the  capacious  round 

Some  British  pen  has  sketched  the  names  renowned 

In  masks  obscure,  of  his  immortal  peers. 

Tho1  joined  by  magic  skill  with  many  a  rhyme 

The  Druid  frame  unhonored  falls  a  prey 

To  the  slow  vengeance  of  the  wizard  Time, 

And  fade  the  British  characters  away — 

Yet  Spencer's  page,  that  chaunts  in  verse  sublime, 

Those  chiefs,  shall  live  unconcious  of  decay. — 


NOTE  III. 
"From  a  fine  poem  intcribed  to  Lady  Fanny  Fielding." 

This  poem  may  be  found  at  length  in  the  well  judged  and  selected  Ex 
tracts  made  by  that  erudite  scholar,  Vicesimus  Kuox. 

NOTE  IV. 

"Think  of  a  modtl  such  as  great  Canova." 

Canova  and  Chauntrey  are  the  greatest  sculptors  in  the  world.     Lord  By 
ron  thus  praises  the  former. 

Italy  ! 

Time  which  hath  wronged  thee  with  ten  thousand  rents 

Of  thine  imperial  garment,  shall  deny 

And  hath  denied,  to  every  other  sky 

Spirits  which  soar  from  ruin  ;— thy  decay 

Is  still  impregnate  with  divinity 

Which  guilds  it  with  revivifying  ray  ; 

Such  as  the  great  of  yore,  CANOVA  is  to  day  ! Canto  4,  Harold- 


66 


The  very  comparison  of  this  noble  stanza,  with  Warton's  Sonnet  in  Note  2, 
induces  me,  once  for  all,to  say  something  concerning  the  Plagiarisms  of  By 
ron.  It  is  merely  a  matter  of  curious  literary  speculation,  and  nothing  more. 
Our  judgment,  concerning  the  matter,  rests  simply  here.  His  Lordship,  knew 
that  he  was  stealing  from  ethers,  and  that  every  body  else  knew  i%  or  that, 
having  worked  up  a  new  garment  from  the  old — he  was  so  well  pleased  with 
it,  that  he  was  determined  to  make  it  his  own,  without  thanks  or  without 
apology.  The  first  example  which  occurs  to  my  mind — is  that  of  the  Eagle 
ia  the  the  English  Bards. 

"So  the  struck  eagle  stretched  upon  the  plain, 
No  more  through  rolling  clouds  to  soar  again, 
Viewed  his  own  feather  on  the  fatal  dart 
And  winged  the  shaft  that  quivered  in  his  heart  ! 
Keen  were  his  pangs— but  keener  far  to  feel 
He  nursed  the  pinion  which  impelled  the  steel !" 


But  what  says  Waller, 

That  eagle's  fate  and  mine  are  one — 
Who  on  the  shaft  that  saw  him  die, 
Espied  a  feather  of  his  own 
Wherewith  he  wont  to  soar  so  high  ! — 

In  the  Poem  of  the  Siege  of  Corinth,  when  Alp  meets  with  the  former  lady 
of  his  love — all  that  fine  passage,  commencing  with — 
„    There  is  a  light  cloud  by  the  moon, 

Tis  passing  and  will  pass  full  soon — 

by  his  Lordship's  own  acknowledgment,  is  taken  from  Valhek,  a  work  by  the 
way,  which  we  do  not  admire  quite  so  much  as  he  does,  and  which  to  us  ap 
pears  singularly  tawdry  in  its  affectations  of  the  sublime,  either  in  prose  or 
poetry  ;— -and  the  other  still  more  admired  passage  in  the  same  poem — 

Once  she  raised  her  hand  on  high, 

It  was  so  wan  and  transparent  of  hue 

You  might  have  seen  the  moon  shine  through. 

ia  evidently  taken  from  Macpherson's  Ossian — where  Crugal's  Ghost  is  dei- 
oribed  as  having 

Stars  dim  twinkling  through  his  form,  &c. 

In  Parasina — 

And  still,  and  pale  and  silently 
Did  Parasina  wait  her  doom  ; 


How  changed  since  last  her  speaking  eye 

Glanc'd  gladness  round  the  glittering  room, 

Where  high-born  men  were  proud  to  wait — 

Where  Beauty  watch'd  to  imitate 

Her  gentle  voice — her  lovely  mein — 

And  gather  from  her  air  and  gait 

The  graces  of  its  queen  ; 

Then  had  her  eye  in  sorrow  wept 

A  thousand  warriors  forth  had  leapt, 

A  thousand  swords  had  sheathless  shone, 

And  made  her  quarrel  all  their  own ! — 

All  who  remember — and  who  does  not — Burkes  famous  passage  of 
"It  is  now  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  since  I  saw  the  Queen  of  France,thcn 
the  dauphiness  at  Versailles,  and  surely  never  lighted  on  this  orb,  which  she 
hardly  seemed  to  touch,  a  more  delightful  vision.  I  saw  her  rising  above  the 
horizon,  decorating  and  cheering  the  elevated  sphere  she  just  began  to  move 
in — glittering  like  the  morning-star,  full  of.  life,  and  splendour,  and  joy.  Oh  ! 
what  a  revolution  !  and  what  a  heart  must  I  have,  to  contemplate  without 
emotion,  that  elevation  and  that  fall  !  little  did  I  dream  when  she  added  ti 
tles  of  veneration  to  those  of  enthusiastic,  distant  respectful  love,  that  she 
carry  the  sharp  antidote  against  disgrace  concealed  in  that  bosom  ;  little 
did  I  dream  that  I  should  have  lived  to  see  such  disasters  fallen  upon  her  in 
a  nation  of  gallant  men,  in  a  nation  of  men  of  honor  and  of  cavaliers.  I 
thought  ten  thousand  swords  must  have  leaped  from  their  scabbards  to  a- 
venge  even  a  look  that  threatened  her  with  insult — but  the  age  of  ehivalry  is 
gone," — will  trace  the  resemblance. 


The  whole  of  the  magnificent  apostrophe  to  the  Ocean  in  Childe  Harold,is 
but  a  versification  of  Keate's  sublime  Address  to  the  Ocean  in  his  Sketches. 

I  open  the  first  page  in  this  last  named  production  of  the  Noble  Bard,  and 
I  read, 

I  saw  from  out  the  M'aves  her  structures  rise, 
As  by  the  stroke  of  an  enchanter's  wand — 

But  that  mighty  witch  of  romance,  Mrs.  Radcliffe,  has  said  before,  in  the 
Mysteries  of  Udolpho,  that — "Venice  rises  from  the  bosom  of  the  ocean — as 
if  touched  by  the  stroke  of  an  enchanter's  wand." 


And  again,  compare  her  description  of  an  Italian  sunset,  with  his  XXVII. 
stanza  in  the  same  work,  and  see  how  much  his  poetry  differs  from  her  prose- 


68 


What  is  the  difference  between  Tacitus' 

"Solitudinem  faciunt,  pacera  appellant," 
and  Selim's  words,  in  the  Bride  of  Abydos, 

"He  makes  a  solitude,  and  call*  it  peace." 


There  are  many  other  examples,  that  I  might  produce,  particularly,  from 
the  works  of  Wordsworth,  Moore,  Coleridge,  Croly,  and  Campbell,  hut  it  is 
time  to  forbear.  I  do  not  wish  even  to  appear  hypercritical.  I  grant  without 
reserve — that  many  of  his  Lordship's  re?emblances  and  pilfering*  are  inten 
tional,  and  others  accidental.  I  think  Lord  Byron,  the  first  Poet  of  the  age, 
but,  at  the  same  same  time,  I  know  his  faults,  and  knowing  them,  will  fear 
lessly  and  unhesitatingly  declare  them. 


NOTE  V. 
"  With  SHESSTONE'S  matron — that  the  green  birch  rod." 

The  School  Mistress  of  5'nenstoue  is  a  well  known  and  well  written  poem. 
How  many  delightful  associations  spring  up  in  our  minds  when  we  remember 
that  romantic  spot  of  the  Pastoral  Poets  Solitude.  The  LEASOWES  are  as 
hallowed  as  the  mysterious  retreats  of  Vaucluse.  There  are  yet  hi-  winding 
walks  snd  ivied  wal!«,  his  favorite  trees  and  groves,  and  all  the  tasteful  mon 
uments  of  his  fine  fancy  and  exquisite  geniu«.  The  inscription  upon  one  of 
them,  in  memory  of  her  he  loved,  is  cherished  in  the  memories  of  all. 

Heu  .'  quanta  minus  esl  cum  rtliquu  vtrsari  quam  tui  meminisse. 

In  a  little  poem  which  I  published  in  the  Daily  Advertiser,  a  little  while 
ago,  with  this  motto  affixed  to  it,  and  which  I  shall  print  again  here,  doing  it, 
however,  not  so  much  to  gratify  particularly  any  feelings  of  personal  vanity, 
or  that  it  may  now  stand  a  chance  of  claiming  something  of  a  more  enduring 
and  ambitious  character,  by  being  introduced  here  but  simply  and  honestly 
because  that  poem  has  become  doubly  valuable  to  me,  from  certain  circum 
stances  of  a  nature  peculiarly  and  tenderly  mournful,  which  have  occurred, 
since  the  hour  dedicated  to  its  composition  ;  may  be  found  three  or  four  ex 
amples  of  what  I  believe  to  be  intimately  connected  or  perhaps  .even  intrin 
sically  forming,  what  is  simply  pathetic  and  elegant  in  poe'.ry  ;  and  which  I 
have  endeavoured  to  maintain,  (with  what  success  the  reader  mnst  judge,) 
whenever  an  opportunity  has  presented  itself  in  the  Poem  of  SFKEX. 


WHERE  IS  HE  ? 

.'  quanta  minus  est  cum  rdiquis  versari  quam  tui  mtminittc." 

His  way  was  on  the  water's  deep, 
For  lands,  fur  distant  and  unknown  !  — 
His  heart  could  fee! — his  eye  could  weep — 
For  sufferings  other  than  his  own  ; 
And  he  could  seem  what  others  be, 
Yet  only  seem — but  WHERE  is  HE  ? 

I  wander  through  this  grove  of  love, 
The  valley  lone — and  climb  the  hill, 
"V\  here  he  was  wont  in  life  to  rove, — 
And  all  looks  calm  and  pleasant  still  ! — 
And  there,  his  bower  and  cypress  tree, 
That  tree  of  gloom  !    but  WHERE  is  HE  ? 

The  sun  above  shines  now  as  bright 

Through  Heaven's  blue  depths — as  once  it  shone  ; 

The  clouds  roll  beautiful  in  light, 

Sweeping  aiound  the  Eternal's  throne  ! 

The  singing  birds  are  full  of  glee, 

Their  songs  as  sweet — but  WHERE  is  HE  ? 

The  mirror  of  the  moon  on  high, 

That  bright  lake,  seems  as  softly  calm  ; — 

The  stars  as  richly  throng  the  sky  ; — 

The  night  winds  breathe  their  fragrant  balm  ; 

Rolls  on  as  bright  that  deep  blue  sea 

Its  mighty  waves — but  WHERE  is  HE  ? 

Here  is  the  wreath  he  twined — but  now 
This  rosy  wreath  is  twined  in  vain  ! 
Tears,  nor  the  bosom's  warmest  glow, 
Will  ever  give  it  life  again  !  — 
All  this  is  dark  and  strange  to  me, 
Yet  still,  1  ask — but  WHERE  is  HE  ? 

I  touch  his  HARP — the  magic  strings, 

The  loveliest  sounds  of  music  pour! 

But  sadly  wild — as  if  the  wings 

Of  DEATH'S  DARK  ANGEL — swept  them  o'er  ! 

The  chords  are  lulled  ! — It  may  not  be  ! 

And  spirits  whisper — WHERE  is  HE  ? 

His  way  was  on  the  water's  Jeep  ! — 
His  corse — is  on  an  unknown  shore  ! — 
He  sleeps — a  long  and  wakeless  sleep — 
And  we  shall  see  his  face  no  more  ! 
'Tis  a  sad  tale  !  he  died  for  me  ! 
Oh  !  GOD!  enough  ! — but  WHERE  is  HE  ? 


NOTE  VI. 

•She  of  the  Shoe, 


Cursed  with  her  progtny .'  and  He,  the  sleeper,  Blue  ! 

This  may  be  supposed  by  many,  to  satirise  the  Wordsworth  an  d  Southey 
school  of  poetry.  I  confess  that  they  are  not  altogether  incorrect.  Notwith 
standing  all  the  eloquence  of  the  former,  his  system,  as  he  calls  it,  of  poetry 
will  never  entirely  hold  good.  There  is  a  great  difference  between  silli 
ness  and  simplicity.  Things  which  are  altogether  mean  and  contemptible 
can  never  be  made  respectable  or  dignified  by  the  sorcery  of  poetry  ;  and  we 
should  no  more  expect  it  there,  than  in  real  life.  An  ideot  dressed  up  in 
kinglike  array  of  purple,  and  fine  linen — is  an  ideot  still.  Wordsworth  and 
Southey,  however,  have  suffered  not,  from  the  droll  satire  of  Byron — though 
one  can  hardly  help  feeling  merry  at  their  expense.  His  lordship  has  been 
sufficiently  severe  upon  them  both,  in  his  English  Bards,  and  is,  perhaps,  too 
personal  in  his  new  code  of  commandments,  in  Don  Juan. 

"Thou  shalt  not  set  up — Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  Southey, 
Because  the  first  is  crazed  beyond  all  hope, 
The  second,  drunk — the  third,  so  quaint  and  mouthy  ;"  &c. 
The  Excursion  of  Wordsworth  is  a  noble  poern,   and  will  live  when  many 
others,  by  this  generation  reported  as  immortal,  will  have  gone  down  to  their 
oblivion.      I  wish  I  could  say  as  much  of  his  Lyrical  Ballads,   and  his  last 
work,  Peter  Bell.    Of  Southey,  I  could  say  a  good  deal.    I  have  been  watching 
his  track,  ever  since  his  Joan  of  Arc  fell  into  my  hand?.    It  would  have  been 
well  for  him  to  have  taken  the  advice  of  Mathias,  the  reputed  author  of  Pur. 
suits  of  Literature  ;  The  Curse  of  Kehama,  Thalaba,  and  Roderick   the  Last 
of  the  Goths,  would  then  have  been  equal  to  his  Madoc,  which  is  certainly 
one  of  the  most  magnificent  Poems  in  our  language.    I  know  of  nothing  more 
affectionately  touching,  than  We  art  Seven,  by  Wordsworth,    and  the  Battle 
of  Klenheim,  by  Southey  ;  not  even  excepting,  the  Exile  of  Erin,  by  Camp 
bell,  or  The  Orphan  Boy,  by  Thelwall. 


NOTE  VII. 

"Such  was  this  Winters  morning — and  the  stage  sleigh''' 

This  kind  of  vehicle,  the  sleigh,  is  altogether  disused,  and  perhaps  by  ma 
ny  unknown,  in  England.  It  is  wonderful  with  what  rapidity  journies  are 
performed  in  our  Country  with  it,  particularly  in  the  Eastern  and  Nor 
thern  States,  when  the  snow  lies  deep  over  the  ground,  and  hardened 
to  an  icy  firmness  by  the  severity  of  the  cold.  It  is  a  convenient  convey- 


ance  on  many  accounts,  all  of  which  will  readily  occur  to  the  minds  of 
those,  who  have  ever  travelled  in  one.  I  wish  1  could  say  as  much  of  the 
comfort  and  pleasure  it  affords  to  the  delicate,  and  feeble  in  health.  On 
our  fine  clear  winter  nights,  however,  when,  a  glorious  firmament  of  stars 
is  burning  above,  you  may  see  in  our  populous  towns  and  cities,  thousands 
of  sleighs  of  various  descriptions,gaily  painted, and  tastefully  decorated,crowd- 
ed  with  human  beings,  wrapped  in  furs  and  warm  clothins,  passing  with 
the  velocity  of  light  along  ;  and  it  is  this  very  rapidity  of  motion,  undoubt 
edly,  in  conjunction  with  pleasant  society,  lovers  and  loved,  dancing,  music, 
bells,  and  mulled  wine,  that  goes  far  to  make  a  quiet,  contemplative  philo 
sopher-like  man,  really  in  good  truth,  at  times,  believe,  that  the  pleas 
ures  of  all  sleighing  parties  are  infinitely  superior  to  all  sufferings,  whether 
physical  or  moral,  that  one  has  to  undergo  from  the  stern  and  relentless  en 
counters  of  bleak  frosty  winds,  and  the  terrible  bitterness  of  the  cold. 


NOTE  VIII. 
Pm  obliged  to  read  a  poem  of  LEYDES'S." 

One  of  his  finest  poems,  a  translation  of  the  famous  Portnguese  Mariners' 
Hymn,  Jive.  Maria  Stella,  may  be  seen  in  Shoberls  partial  translation  of  Cha 
teaubriand's  Beauties  of  Christianity,  (page  523,  Notes,)  the  rest  in  a  collec 
tion  of  his  works,  published  sometime  in  the  year  1819. 


NOTE  IX. 
"For  eggs,  are  daintiest,  new—tho'*  tqueamish  persons  scoff.'  " 

Vide  Introduction,  2d  Canto  of  Column's  Lady  of  (he  Wreck, 
"The  Egg  is  daintiest  when  'tis  taken  new — 
And  love  is  sweetest  in  the  honey  moon." 


NOTE  X. 

".E'en  though  his  Wines  are  sour,  his  Porter,  Yeast  !  'n 

Socrates  was  of  opinion,  that  Wine  was  the  best,  that  was  drunk  at  the  ex 
pense  of  another.  He  is  not  the  only  philosopher  of  quiet,  staid,  sober  habits 
who  embraced  the  same  opinion. 


72 

NOTE  XI. 
"TTiou  of  the  purple  ro&e,  and  diadem  of  gold  !  " 

This  noble  line,  I  am  proud  to  quote  from  a  poem  generally  ascribed  to 
•ne  of  the  most  magnificent  painters  and  poets  in  our  Country.  I  allude  to 
Washington  Allston.  His  Sylphs  of  the  Seasons,  and  the  Paint  King,  which 
is  quite  an  extraordinary,  daring  and  original  production,  every  one  has  by 
heart.  I  cannot  speak  of  this  highly  gifted  genius  in  a  manner  which  I  could 
wish.  There  are  too  many  sweet  and  delightful  memories  of  past  years  that 
crowd  upon  me,  and  I  am  afraid  I  should  appear  too  enthusiastic,  and  my 
words  would  sound  like  the  words  of  adulation  ;  He  could  not  despise  this, 
more  than  I  should,  myself.  And  it  is  for  this  very  reason,  also,  that  I  refrain 
now,  from  saying  what  I  have  an  earnest-longing  to  say,  of  Pierpont's  Airs  of 
Palestine ;  and  of  Neal's  JVY'agara,  GoWau,  and  Otho.  The  authors  of  these 
works,  I  know.  Pierpont  has  done  that  which  sends  his  name  sparkling  down 
forever  the  stern  tide  of  human  time.  Neal  has  given  up  altogether,  the  writ- 
ins;  of  poetry.  The  last  poetical  production  of  his  pen,  was  written  at  my  re 
quest,  in  my  room,  the  last  he  will  ever  write  ;  and  I  speak  truth  when  I  say, 
that  I  believe,  there  is  no  poem  in  the  whole  compas*  of  English  poetry,  of 
the  same  length,  equally  beautiful  As  there  are  but  f«*w  men,  so  there  are 
but  ftw  friends  like  him  ;  (to  use  the  energetic  language  of  Byron,)  so  true  in 
council,  and  trusty  in  peril,so  often  tried  and  never  found  wanting  ;  certain 
ly,  at  least,  with  three  or  four  exceptions,  as  it  regards  myself ; — of  these,  a- 
las  1  two  are  dead,  and  of  the  others,  I  feel  this  is  neither  the  place,  nor  the 
time  to  speak.  And  I  forbear. 


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